


We Left Our Chains, We Left Them Below.

by MasterKacey



Category: Changeling: The Lost, World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - World of Darkness (Games) Setting, Angst, Angst and Drama, Anti-Hero, Arcadia - Freeform, Cannibalism, Changeling - Freeform, Changeling: The Lost - Freeform, Changelings, Clarity Loss, Dark Fantasy, Don't talk to anyone without your lawyer, Explicit Language, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fantasy, Flashbacks, Goodbye yellow brick road, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, Kansas City, Las Vegas, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Motley - Freeform, Multi, New York City, Original Character(s), Other, PTSD, Providence, Psychological Drama, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, The Green Mountain, The feels, Transient lifestyle, Trauma, True Fae, Urban Fantasy, Vermont, Vice, World of Darkness, questionable morals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 72,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29724246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterKacey/pseuds/MasterKacey
Summary: A story based on the Changeling: the Lost tabletop game I play in. It follows the narrator, a Roteater named Mazikeen, and her motley: Mr. Daisy, a Flowering; Liam, a Venombite; and Woody, a Maniken, after their escape from The Green Mountain in Arcadia. Maze struggles to find her place in human society, regain her memories, and evade those that wish to drag her and her friends back to the Mountain.All characters within are original characters. Daisy, Liam and Woody are my closest friend's PCs and all other characters were created by me or my husband (the GM for the game).
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

Saint Jean, Quebec. Sept of 2000.

_stop the applause why wont they stop i dont want to fight anymore the clapping its so loud my ears my head it hurts._

A hand touches my shoulder and I jerk away reflexively, pulling my hands from my ears and baring my teeth. The man who touched me puts his own hands up and backs away. He reeks of flowers, likely due to the white petals growing from his scalp. Next to him, a younger man, handsome despite the spider-like appendages erupting from his shoulders and the exoskeleton tracing his form, stares down at me with a confused expression. Both men wear burlap rags in place of clothing, and have scrapes and small cuts peppering their bodies. 

Cocking my head to the side, I hear ambient popping coming from one of the nearby streetlights. Confident that the sound will no longer morph into deafening applause, I place a clawed hand against the ground and push myself back onto my feet. As I brush the gravel from my fur, I notice that I'm also dressed in burlap and marred with wounds. A baseball bat hangs from a simple leather belt at my side. 

_my bat. this is my bat._

I touch the wooden handle, and it's warm against my hand. As I stare at my bat, a small black beetle crawls from a crack in the wood and drops onto the street. The hackles on the back of my neck stiffen and I turn to the two strange men. "Who are you?" I ask, my voice sounding raspy and unused.

The younger man glances at my bat, then back at my face, appearing apprehensive. He simply replies, "Liam."

The man with flowers for hair answers, "I'm Mr. Daisy, I'm a lawyer. Well, was a lawyer. Not sure if you can consider what I was doing in /there/ as actual legal work." 

"In there?" I ask.

This time, it's Liam that speaks up. "Did we get out?" His tone growing hopeful, he continues, "Did we actually get out?"

Frustrated and on edge, I abruptly start walking down the street. "Walk and talk, I don't like just standing here." When the two of them catch up, I grumble, "I don't know what either of you are talking about. Get out of where? I don't even know who you are." As I speak, I realize

_i dont even know who i am._

"Out of the Green Mountain," Mr. Daisy replies. "Somehow all three of us got out of there. I don't actually remember how we managed that."

_the green mountain_

The words put a lead weight in my barren gut, but otherwise don't stir up any memories. "I can't remember shit. I don't remember any mountains, or either of you," After a pause, I add, " and I barely remember who I am."

_i remember fighting. i remember applause. I DONT REMEMBER GETTING OUT._

Mr. Daisy gives me an incredulous look as we walk, but before he can respond a flashy sports car comes speeding down the street, the bass from its stereo loud enough to send a pair of squirrels scrambling out from the underbrush. Instinctively, I chase after them, darting into the sparse copse of trees lining the road, ignoring the alarmed shouts from behind me. Both rodents are long gone, and I can't tell what's louder, the growl of my empty stomach or my growl of frustration. As I trudge back to the road, I try to shrug off Mr. Daisy's judgmental queries and continue walking. "Don't know how else you expect we're gonna eat, unless you've got traveler's checks somewhere in that burlap sack of yours."

We walk in silence for a while, before Liam pipes up, "I don't have money, but uh, I found this thing sewn into my pants. It's like a piece of a plate or something."

Curious, I pat down the side of my legs, feeling something with sharp edges poking the side of my hand. With the edge of a claw, I tear a few stitches from the burlap, pulling a broken chunk of ceramic from the makeshift pocket. "Huh. I got one, too."

After a moment, Mr. Daisy retrieves his own piece, commenting, "Well, this can't be a coincidence, we'd better hold onto them until we figure out why the hell we have them."

The other two stow their pieces away, but I keep mine out, turning it over and over in my hand as if the repetitive motion will invoke a thought or memory. We walk for what feels like hours, until there's no hint of sun in the sky, seeming to grow no closer to any sort of civilization. Liam and I keep a steady pace without issue, but Mr. Daisy begins a constant stream of complaints regarding his aching feet, his hunger, his need to indulge in some sort of immoral vice. I'm about to make him aware of a welcoming orifice he can start directing all his complaints to when the three of us are distracted by the glare of headlights as a vehicle turns onto our road. As we move onto the shoulder, I go on high alert as the vehicle, a large, strong smelling dump truck, slows down to stop just past us. When no one makes a move to approach the truck, it gives a single encouraging honk. With my hand on my bat, I look to Mr. Daisy, vaguely aware that Liam is doing the same. Mr. Daisy shrugs and walks towards the truck, Liam and I flanking either side of him. 

The passenger side door is pushed open, and sitting in the driver's seat is a brawny, pink cheeked, red haired man. He gives each one of us an obvious once over, brows raising as he takes sight of the baseball bat, moreso, my hand firmly wrapped around the handle. "I'm not much for baseball, but it seems like you've got a couple of woodlice in your bat." I feel a few beetles crawl over my fingers, but I keep my hand on the bat and my eyes on the man in the truck. 

Confidently, Mr. Daisy steps closer to the open door. "Hi, there. Thanks for stopping, we've been walking for hours. I'm Mr. Daisy," he points to his left, "this is Liam," he points to his right, "and this is..." He stops, staring at me. "Who are you?"

I clench my jaw, looking from Mr. Daisy, to Liam, to the stranger in the truck. Tentatively, I take my hand off my bat, crossing my arms in from of my chest. "I'm Mazikeen. Maze. Whatever."

Mr. Daisy nods and turns back to the red haired man, who smiles in return. "I'm Jean Roux, nice to meet the three of yeh." 

Sniffing towards the back of the dump truck, I distractedly ask, "So uh, where are we, Jean Roux?"

"Saint Jean, Quebec, or at least, you'll be there in another hour or twos walk." Mr. Daisy groans loudly, and Liam hangs back looking uncomfortable. I turn my attention back to Jean Roux as he continues, "But, there's a freehold there, and I'd be a hell of a shit if I left you all in the street when it looks like yeh could use a little help. Why don't you hop in, two of yeh are gonna have to ride in the back, and you can get a bite and some rest at my place? I can bring yeh along to meet some folks in the morning." 

Already climbing into the cab, Mr. Daisy claims the passenger seat before Jean Roux even finishes speaking. I hear him tell Daisy "Whatever you do, don't touch that lever there," as Liam and I climb into the back. Liam immediately covers the bottom of his face with the neck of his burlap shirt, gagging on the smell of blood and decay. The back of the dump truck is semi filled with a few pieces of scrap metal and pallets and piles of roadkill. My nose twitches, my senses not offended by the stench, almost seeming accustomed to it. I perch on one of the pallets, watching Liam as he hangs his head over the lip of the truck bed. As the truck starts moving down the road again, my stomach once more churns hungrily. With Liam's attention still directed elsewhere, I pick an animal corpse from a nearby pile. The stink of rancid meat makes my mouth water and before I can second guess myself, I take one of the animal's limbs between my teeth and tear it off. I chew the small bones and rotten flesh with the ease of someone enjoying a rare steak, swallowing the meat and actually sighing as it briefly quells the ache of hunger in my gut. Before I even realize it, the entire corpse is gone, the bones too large to chew licked clean. I toss the clean bones to the side, wiping my mouth and hands on the burlap rags I'm wearing. Fighting the urge to eat anything else in the truck bed, I lean my head back against the wall and steadily breathe in the scent of death.

_jesus christ WHAT am i_


	2. Chapter 2

Saint Jean, Quebec. Sept of 2000.

_im dreaming_

I know I'm dreaming, because I fell asleep just about the minute I curled up in the easy chair of Roux's house. But here I am, still in this chair, still in this house, and Roux is sitting at his breakfast nook writing in a journal or something. After a moment, Daisy appears, seeming to pop into existence, stretched across the couch he claimed. He sits up, scratching at the flower petals that serve as his hair as he looks around the room. I stare expectantly at the pile of cushions on the floor, just as Liam appears, looking equally confused. 

At the table, Roux continues to write, only looking up from his task when Daisy purposefully clears his throat. "Ah," he closes the journal in front of him. "Guess I could have given you a heads up about the dreaming thing."

Leaning forward in the chair, I ask, "Dreaming thing?"

"We, that is, the Lost, are lucid dreamers. So, you're sleeping, but you're still in control of what happens over here." He waves his hand in the air. "For the most part."

Daisy, unconcerned, lays his head back against the arm of the couch. Liam pulls the thin blanket up to his chest, and asks Roux, "Did you bring us into your dream?"

Roux nods. "It's safer to dream together, and with the three of you having just shaken yourselves free from the thorns, I figured it'd be a comfort to yeh." 

"Thanks," I reply, almost smiling at the larger man. He nods, opening his book and resuming his writing. 

Morning comes and Roux brews a pot of coffee as he explains what we were all too tired to comprehend last night. "Saint Jean is a freehold, we're a community for Lost to cohabitate and support each other. We've got seasonal rulers, and right now Autumn is in power, you'll meet him. I'm the former Summer King, you'll meet the former Winter and Spring Queens as well. It'll be a good idea for each of yeh to pick a court to join up with. Your court will help you learn what you need to learn to keep what happened to yeh from never happening to yeh again." He pours a draft of coffee into a thermos for himself, before offering the pot the Daisy. "If you don't want to stick around here, there's a boat that a friend of mine works on, docks here and goes all the way to Vermont, in the States." He screws the top on his thermos and takes a sip of the steaming drink. "I know this is a lot to absorb right now. I'd tell yeh it's gets easier, but I'm not much for lying." 

Daisy and Liam each fill their cups, before we step out into the brisk September morning. Once more, Daisy immediately claims the passenger seat in the cab. Liam, staring dejectedly towards the truck bed as I climb in, blocks the door as Daisy moves to swing it closed. "You sure three of us can't fit up front? I don't mind being squished a little." 

Already sitting comfortable on a pallet, I hear Roux respond, "Not unless you want your friend back there to get dumped out on the asphalt while we're going sixty. Can't risk one of yeh knocking into that lever."

At that comment, I pop my head up, barking out, "Quit bitching and get in the damned truck!"

I hear the sound of Roux's laughter from the cab. "Temper like that, you sound like Summer court." 

_whatever that means_

Liam grudgingly hops over the lip of the truck bed, covering his mouth and nose as we pull out away from Roux's house.

Our first stop is an antique store, ran by the former Spring Queen, Lady LaMontague. As she introduces herself, a warm breeze seems to follow the woman, complimenting her windswept appearance. She takes particular interest in Daisy, who banters with her like they've know each other for years. I sit back in the truck bed, glowering and trying to tune out their conversation. Liam attempts to follow along, but eventually gets third wheeled enough to join me on my pallet. After about fifteen minutes, the truck starts up again and we begin moving towards our next designation. 

Raising my nose to the air, I catch a whiff of hay and livestock, strong enough to notice even over the reek of roadkill piled in around us. The truck pull off onto a dirt road, before stopping in front of an old farmhouse. Liam and I hop out. Liam attempts to shake the stench from the rags of his clothing as I take in the sight of acres of cornfield and a sprawling pasture with at least a dozen cows. As if by instinct, my mouth waters at the sight of fresh meat on the hoof, and I quickly turn away before I rashly act on my carnivorous urges. The door to the farmhouse opens, and a heavyset, pig nosed woman greets Roux warmly. A black and white border collie dashes out into the yard, barking sternly at Liam, Daisy and I. "Hey guy," I say, squatting down to the dogs level. "it's alright. We're friends." I glance up, catching Daisy's weirded out look before returning my attention to the dog. "Well, /I'm/ your friend. C'mere." I can't help but crack a smile as the dog trots over to me, tail wagging a mile a minute as I rub my face on his, scratching behind his ears and mumbling nonsense to the beast.

"Did uh, did she just bark at that dog?" I hear Daisy ask. "Did she bark at it like she was talking to it?"

To my surprise, Liam replies, in a matter-of-fact tone, "Yeah, she told him they're friends." Looking at Daisy like he's an idiot, he adds, "Did /you/ not understand her?"

From the porch, the pig nosed woman and Roux share brief laughter over our exchange, before the woman introduces herself as Madame Marie Roquet, former Winter Queen. She invites us in for breakfast and Daisy, of course, is first to agree. I take my omelet out onto the porch, feeding pieces of egg to the dog and predominantly eating the sausage and bacon. Eventually Liam comes outside, stating that he's going to check out the barn. Not feeling social enough to reenter the house, I tag along with him. 

I watch silently as Liam checks in corners and under hay bales, finally climbing up into the loft and making a strange clicking nose up at the beams of the barn. My curiosity gets the best of me and I ask, "What the hell are you doing up there?"

He reaches upwards with one the appendages on his shoulder, and by squinting, I see a sheer, shimmering thread and a tiny blob of something crawl onto the offered limb. He allows the blob to climb down his arm and into his hand, holding it up to his ear for a moment before crossing over to the other side of the loft. Moving a pile of hay aside, he lets a few more blobs crawl up his arm. Suddenly he jerks his hand back, shouting, "fuck!" A large snake slithers out from a hole in the floorboards, rearing it's triangular shaped head to strike again. I'm about to yell for Liam to get his ass back down here when he strikes out with his fist, landing a perfect haymaker and knocking the reptile into the side of the barn wall. Liam seems to takes a moment to comprehend what just happened before climbing down out of the loft. Several spiders now cling to the outside of the burlap rags he wears, and a larger spider rests, almost companionably, on his shoulder. On the ball of his thumb, a small amount of blood leaks from two puncture wounds.

"You just punched a fucking snake," I state, impressed. I gesture to the snake bite. "Do you want to get that cleaned out? Do I need to suck the venom out or something?"

Liam shakes his head, smiling down at the collection of spiders on his shirt. "That sort of stuff doesn't really affect me. I got bit a lot, when I was, y'know." 

_i dont know_

I don't ask him to elaborate as we walk back to the farmhouse. Eventually, we make our way to a private hospital, run by the Autumn king, Dr. Giorondi. With hair so black it's more of a void than a color, and skin like the swirls of a starry nebula, the king is all the more intimidating when he lets us know, in a not-so-subtle threat, that trouble we cause in his freehold will not be tolerated. He reiterates Roux's statement on the importance of joining a court. Noticeably more confident with his spider allies along for the ride, Liam voices interest in joining the Autumn court, and immediately gets whisked into the building by a hobgoblin named Mr. Trixie. After asserting that no one else wishes to join, the king departs as well and I climb back into the truck bed, alone. I take advantage of the solitude and significantly less shame than yesterday, help myself to one of the carcasses by my feet. Again, the rancid, rotting meat goes down with no more difficulty than the omelet I ate at the Spring queen's house. After I eat, I sit crossed legged on a pallet, picking under my claws with a piece of bone, waiting for the truck to pull back into Roux's driveway.

I'm surprised when we stop earlier than I expected, and even more surprised when a ring of scrap metal is tossed in my direction. Reflexively, I catch it, standing up and glancing towards the direction it came from. A man in his forties, his body appearing to be made of highly reflective glass, stares up at me. "Shit! I'm sorry, I didn't know someone was back there. Good catch, though."

I place the ring of metal down and hop out of the truck bed as Roux and Daisy come around the back of the vehicle. "S'alright, and uh, thanks?"

Roux introduces us, and the man offers his hand for me to shake. "I'm Gerald, nice to meet ya."

I grip Gerald's hand, glancing down at his reflective skin. Dressed in foul smelling burlap rags, roadkill on my breath, I still can't help but comment, "I feel like there's something I could say here." I look back up at his face, smirking slightly. "Something about a mirror in your pocket?"

In my periphery, I see Daisy's expression, comically wide eyed at my attempt at flirting. Nevertheless, Gerald smiles in return, replying, "You also could have went with something about glassblowing."

Releasing Gerald's hand, I let out an unflattering bark of a laugh. "Damn, missed opportunity."

"Gerald is Summer court," Roux informs me. "Have yeh given anything thought to where you feel you'd fit in?" He asks.

Without hesitation, I reply, "Honestly? I'd have to say," I gesture to Roux and Gerald with both hands. "you guys, definitely."

They both seem pleased, Gerald giving me a leisurely once over before commenting, "Excellent, we could always use more muscle." As he speaks, a woman comes out of the house we're parked in front of. A human, very plain and forgettable looking. She greets Roux with familiarity and places a hand on Gerald's arm, her expression inquisitive as she looks towards Daisy and I. Gerald pats her hand and announces, "Alyssa, this is Maze and Mr. Daisy, they're Roux's cousins from out of town." He looks back to us. "This is my wife, Alyssa."

I try not to let my disappointment show too obviously on my face, even when I hear Daisy mumble a quiet: "Oof." under his breath. As the group makes careful small talk, guarding their words around Gerald's wife, who obviously isn't aware of the non-human creatures she's around.

_or married to_

I once more zone out. Alyssa eventually goes back into the house, and Roux confirms an "initiation ceremony" to welcome me to the Summer court tonight.

Tuning back into the conversation, I look towards the red haired Roux, concerned. "What do you mean, initiation?"

Gerald elbows Roux. "By 'initiation', he means that we accept you with open arms, a couple people probably punch each other, and then we all get drunk."

"I like that last part," pipes up Daisy.

Shrugging, I reply, "Ah, well I'm in either way."

Roux claps Gerald and me on the back. "Alright! We'll go drop Mr. Daisy off with Lady LaMontague and then head to the junkyard."

I help Gerald toss a few more rolls of scrap metal into the truck, before climbing in myself. Briefly, I wonder how Liam is faring with the Autumn king, but Daisy is dropped off soon enough, and I'm kept entertained by a stream of stories and information from Roux. As we drive to the junkyard, I rest my head against the seat back and relax, almost comfortable for the first time in, well

_as long as i can remember_


	3. Chapter 3

Saint Jean, Quebec. Sept of 2000

_this tavern probably hasn't had this much business in decades_

The Best Leg Tavern: reads the neon sign above the bar. Some of the lights flicker, blinking out in random intervals. From the smudged mirror that serves as the back of the bar, I can see every cluster of changelings, in every stage of drunken revelry. Daisy is in his element, surrounded by his new Spring court friends with a glass of liquor in one hand and his arm slung around the shoulders of a young woman with a pale, pointed face and the ears of an artic fox. The Autumn king and Liam have a table to themselves, the pair appearing somewhere between cozy and creepy, even ignoring the addition of Liam's new accessory, a cold iron chain draped carefully around his neck. The largest and most raucous table is, unsurprisingly, the Summer court. 

_my court_

  
Earlier, at the junkyard, they managed to keep up appearances long enough to fool me into thinking there was an actual rite of initiation. Gerald, Roux and the other court members gathered in a circle around a bonfire. Roux, wearing a pair of thick, leather gloves, held a spear out in front of him. "This is cold iron," he explained. "This is like poison to us. Cold iron can destroy a member of the Gentry, and it can do the same to one of the Lost."

"Like Kryptonite to Superman," added one of the men across the circle.

"To prove yourself, you need to hold this in your bare hands for," the briefest hesitation before Roux continues, "twenty minutes."

I look Roux, than at the spear, nodding my head. "Alright," I reply, and reach for the weapon with my bare hand.

Roux yanks the spear out of my reach. "Holy shit, you're really gonna do it. I was just fucking around." The group dissolves into laughter. Roux sticks the spear into the ground and nudges me with his arm. "Badass, aren't yeh?"

  
There's a crash as someone drops or throws a beer bottle, and in the bar mirror I see Roux put one of the other Summer court members in a playful headlock. I smile a little, to myself, idly scratching my fur under the burlap shirt I'm still wearing. I catch the lights reflecting off a gleaming, moving surface, as Gerald rises from the Summer court table. I watch him approach the bar from the mirror. He slides onto the stool next to me and gestures to my untouched beverage. "Not much of a drinker?"

I make a face at the glass in front of me. "It's ginger ale. It was the closest they had to tea." Still scratching at the burlap, I half turn to face him. "I feel like I'd be a mean drunk, anyway."

Gerald nods, understandingly. "Not much for debauchery either?"

"Eh," I reply. Peering up at the bar mirror, I continue: "Depends on the debauchery."

Noticing my preoccupied scratching, Gerald asks, "You alright?"

"It's this fucking burlap," I blurt out, frustrated. "You wouldn't want to give me your pants or anything, would you? I feel like it's either that or I lose my mind and rip this shit off of me."

"I wouldn't be opposed to either option, really." 

Furrowing my brow, I look back at Gerald. "Huh?"

He laughs. "We can trade, if that would make you more comfortable. Trade pants?"

"Yes," I reply, hopping off the stool, about to push the burlap pants down. "Please, jesus christ."

Gerald grabs my wrist, laughing again. "In the bathroom would be better, there's a few laws about public nudity that we should try not to break."

"Oh." I pause. "Riiight."

  
The sound of the bathroom door locking behind Gerald puts me on alert, and I spin around, staring at him suspiciously. He raises both hands, "Just making sure we don't have a little old lady walk in and have a heart attack at the sight of my alluring form." I roll my eyes. "Or your alluring form." 

He turns away from me, and I hear him undo his belt buckle. Following suit, I turn and slide the itching, stinking burlap from my furred legs. I toss the pants in his direction and stand there, naked from the waist down and waiting for him to toss his own pants over. 

The fur on the back of my neck stands up, as I feel the heat of Gerald's body close behind me. Our skin doesn't touch, but somehow, every part of me is hyper aware of every part of his body that I could be pressed against right now. 

_hes married he has a wife_

A single step back and I'm flush against him, my curves fitting into the planes of his physique just right. I feel his erection, an insistent presence pushed against my ass, even more so when I grind into it. Gerald's hands grip into my hips, and his breath is hot on my skin as he growls in my ear.

_HES MARRIED HE HAS A WIFE_

Regretfully, bitterly and half-heartedly I turn and push him away. My skin seems to cry out, cold and unsatisfied in his absence. "You," I lick my lips, forcing the words out, "are married."

"It's an open relationship," Gerald answers, quickly, pulling his shirt up and off.

"That's a lie." Even as I say this, I'm removing my own shirt. "That is not the truth," I insist, as I latch my mouth onto Gerald's. But once he has me pinned against the wall, my legs wrapped around him as his bites my breast hard enough to bruise, once something in the bathroom breaks from our antics, once I tackle him to the floor, riding him until he's moaning my name...

  
Tugging Gerald's jeans over my hips, I fasten my bat to a belt loop before grabbing my shirt. Pulling my shirt over my head, I watch, amused, as Gerald dresses himself in my scratchy, stained burlap pants. He grimaces, about to speak when the sound of gunshots comes from the other side of the bathroom door. Gerald's expression grows dire, and I can only imagine my own is similar as we both move towards the door. He exits the room first, just as the thunder of gunshots comes again. A body falls to our left, Lady LaMontague, half her face a raw crater, pouring blood. In my periphery, I see Daisy pulling a woman by the arm, dragging her towards the kitchen. Gerald starts to move in the direction the shots came from, and I drop to all fours in order to leap at the assailant. 

Another shot, and there's suddenly a gaping hole through Gerald's chest. Through the hole, I see a shotgun held in clawed hands. I see a man covered in scales, his long tail sweeping out from under the bottom of his jacket. His eyes are a dark, mottled gold, and they narrow at me as he cocks the shotgun to fire again. 

  
I'm back in the Pits. Fur and scales seem to meld together as Elekite and I dissolve into a mass of claws and teeth. Blood makes things slippery, and Elekite is just too quick for me. His fangs end up at my throat. In my throat. He waits, letting me hear the crowd cheering. Letting me hear the applause reach a fever pitch. Then he bites down.

  
I leap as I hear the gun go off, and my side feels like it's been licked by fire. The man with the shotgun _elekite_ dodges out of my grasp. From his other side, a chair goes flying and hits him in the back with incredible accuracy. Liam flips a table on it's side, using it as cover as the man _elekite_ turns towards him. I unhook my my bat while his attention is pulled away, distantly aware of the sounds of people screaming, and the shrill, static buzz of the lights in the tavern. Cocking the bat on my shoulder, ignoring the spear of pain in my side, I crack it against the side of the man's _elekites_ head. He grunts in response, pushing me back with the butt of the shotgun before pointing the business end at me and firing again. 

Falling back onto the floor, I clap my hand to my stomach. I'm relieved to not feel a gaping hole, similar to the one in Gerald's chest, but blood flows freely between my fingers. The lights flicker incessantly, and something that looks like a glare of lightning flashes near the side door. The jukebox, somehow still maddeningly playing Glen Campbell throughout the carnage, begins to skip as a changeling with wild, white-blonde hair, dressed in dark coveralls steps into the tavern. Sparks of electricity sputter off of his skin, and he fires a bolt of it in Liam's direction. Liam manages to dodge, as he pulls the iron chain from his neck and swings it at the man with the shotgun _elekite_. Something crashes in the kitchen, and a trail of lightning follows the man as he stalks after the sound. 

Liam's chain hits its mark, the cold iron sizzling as it makes contact with _elekites_ scaled flesh. I begin pelting him with whatever I can find on the floor, pegging a beer bottle at the dark purple boil that's rising from where I hit the man _elekite_ with my bat. The boil bursts, releasing a swarm of beetles that crawl into the man's _elekites_ nose and mouth. Liam swings the chain again, missing his target as the man _elekite_ quickly backs away. Once the man _elekite_ backs out the door, Liam grabs a bar rag from a table and rushes to my side. "We've got to get the fuck out of here," he says, and I realize it's difficult to hear him over the sound of the skipping jukebox, the moans of the dying and the screams of the few people still in the tavern. 

I take the rag from him and press it against the larger of the two wounds, choking out, "Daisy?" in a pained voice.

Stooping to pick me up, Liam ignores my groaned complaints, and lifts me into his arms. "Daisy got out the back, I think."

As he carries towards the exit, stepping around the bodies of Gerald and the Spring queen, I mention, "That man went that way. The one with the lightning." I scan the rest of the bodies scattered around the tavern. "Fuck, where's Roux? Did you see Roux?"

Liam doesn't reply until we're out in the parking lot, the sounds of the tavern being replaced by approaching sirens. When he speaks, it's in a low, conspirator's tone. "That was Godwin. With the lightning? We killed him, Maze. Do you remember?"

The rag in my hand is soaked through with blood, and I'm having difficulty holding it against my stomach as the shriek of the sirens grow closer. I hear Liam still trying to talk to me, but I can't comprehend his words. The name he spoke is echoing in my head, louder than the sirens. The rag drops from my grasp, and I'm closing my eyes against the bright flash of red and blue lights. I'm remembering.

_godwin. we took his head._


	4. Chapter 4

Saint Jean, Quebec. Sept of 2000.

Godwin throws a boy into the pit, down at my feet. Roots, his skin is blistered and burned, and he stares up at me through his root-like hair, more alert than he should be for someone who's likely had the shit beaten out of him. My bat is cocked up on my shoulder, and I shift my attention from Roots, to the gray skinned ogre on the other side of the pit. The ogre glances at the boy, confusion etched on his dull, boar-like features. From the stands, Godwin's voice calls down, steely and authoritative, "Kill him."

Despite being diminutive in size, injured and unarmed, Roots doesn't cower. He simply continues to stare up at me. My bat stays on my shoulder, and with a quiet exhale, I look back up at Godwin. Electricity crackles from his fingers, from the ends of his hair, as he commands, "Mazikeen, kill him." I swing the bat from my shoulder, lowering it to rest against my foot, defying his order. The lights in the Pits flicker, as he snarls, "Ogre! Kill the boy!"

The gray skinned ogre doesn't even look at Roots, doesn't move in his direction at all, instead meeting my eyes. There's the sound of a commotion coming from just outside the Pits, and Roots climbs to his feet. There are people, changelings and goblins, running into the Pits, and I try to shout a warning to the ogre as Godwin furiously hurls a bolt of living lightning at him. The bolt hits the ogre in the shoulder, severing his arm. The smell of cauterized flesh fills the area as Roots and I run for the stands. 

Another bolt of lightning snakes through the crowd, knocking an avian woman to the ground, her body convulsing. I reach the top of the stands and recklessly swing my bat at Godwin, bringing him to his knees. A tall, spider-like man _liam_ breaks from the crowd, a heavy chunk of masonry in his hands. Swinging my bat again, I knock Godwin prone, allowing Liam to bring the chunk of masonry down on Godwin's neck. He batters through the man's throat and spine, until his head is severed from his shoulders. With a howl of triumph, I swing my bat low, striking Godwin's decapitated head and sending it soaring into the surging crowd. 

The two of us are quickly swept into the moving bodies. Roots seems to materialize from the crowd, clutching a severed arm in one hand. I lean down, allowing the boy to climb on my back, and he points towards the heavy, ceramic door that keeps us locked in the Green Mountain. Others begin to follow us, a man with flowers for hair _daisy_ , and a man resembling a wooden puppet. From atop my shoulders, Roots throws the arm at the door, shattering it into pieces. He pulls something from his pocket, shoving it towards Daisy as he tells us to, "GO!"

_WE TOOK HIS HEAD_

I jerk into consciousness, wincing as the IV taped to my arm almost rips out. "Fuck," I sit up with significant effort, feeling the freshly stitched flesh of my abdomen bunch up. "Where's…" I look around the hospital room, seeing Liam, Daisy and the fox-faced Spring court woman. I swallow, attempting to moisten my throat. "Where's Roux?" 

It's Daisy that answers. "He's dead. Rachel and I saw him," he cringes, "what was left after Godwin charbroiled him."

_we can die out here and we dont come back. its not like the pits._

I shudder, sending a spike of pain through my bullet wounds. "And Godwin?" I ask. "Where are him and Elekite?"

Liam gives me a sharp look. "Elekite?"

"The one with the shotgun. The one that did this." I point to my gut.

Daisy replies, "Neither of them were there when I went to check things out."

"Fuck," I repeat, peeling the tape off my skin. "We've got to get the fuck out of here, then. They could come find us here." I pull the IV from the crook of my arm, ignoring the words of protest from the others in the room. "What about Dr. Girondi? This is his hospital, right?"

"He wasn't one of the bodies at the bar, but he's not here, either." Liam moves to the side of the bed, trying to keep me from pulling the various monitors from my hands. "Maze, lay the hell down. You lost a ton of blood, you need to stay here."

"Fuck that. I'm not going to risk them coming to find us here and putting more people in danger. I'm fine." I slide off the hospital bed, only losing my balance slightly as I grab Gerald's pants from the wheeled side table and struggle to pull them on. "Roux was telling me about a boat that docks near here. Goes to Vermont, and there's a changeling that works on it. We need to get on that boat and get somewhere that Godwin and Elekite can't find us."

"Not a horrible plan," agrees Daisy.

The woman speaks up. Rachel. "You should at least talk to Marie before leaving." She glances around the room at Daisy, Liam and I. "If the king is unreachable, one of the former monarchs needs to be made aware of what happened."

Electing to use the hospital gown as a shirt, I retrieve my bat from the bag of my belongings. "Fine, that's... fine." Leaving the room, I wince at the pain in my stomach and sides as I walk. "It's gotta be quick, though. We didn't hurt Elekite nearly enough to scare him away for long."

We're almost to the door when a nurse stops me. "Ma'am, where do you think you're going? You're one of the folks from that incident at the tavern, aren't you?" Somehow, she doesn't believe me when I say no, going as far as throwing her arm in front of me to block my progress as I attempt to walk out the door. "I can't just let you leave, you've been badly injured and still have a lot of treatment before you can be discharged."

Setting my jaw angrily, I wave the others ahead. As they exit to the parking lot, I turn my attention back to the nurse. "Listen, I appreciate your dedication to your job, but I'm fine, so I'm leaving."

The nurse refuses to budge, pointing to my stomach. "You're bleeding, and I am not letting you walk out of this hospital."

With a growl, I look down at the dots of blood seeping through the gown serving as my shirt and repeat, "I'm fine, and I'm leaving." Still managing to show restraint, I attempt to push past the nurse.

She places a firm hand on my shoulder, forcefully pushing me back towards the interior of the hospital. "No," she insists. "you're not."

Temper flaring, I pull my bat from its loop and shoulder it. "Lady, there's one of us that took an oath to not do harm and it ain't me. Leave me alone."

The nurse is steadfast, perhaps not believing that I'll actually use the bat. "Ma'am, you /need/ to go back to your room!"

I swing the bat, holding back as much as my rage will allow. It hits the nurse above her elbow and she cries out, but somehow, infuriatingly, she still stands her ground. She starts to say something else and I swing the bat at her head. Her body falls to the marble floor with a thunk and before I can feel guilty about it, I hook my bat back onto my belt and swiftly walk outside.

Once more gathered in the former Winter queen's farmhouse, the atmosphere is a stark opposite of the warm, friendly breakfast we enjoyed just that same morning. Liam and I allow Daisy to do the talking, with some sort of bare hope that he can make the massacre somehow sound less like our fault. The blame is clear in the queen's expression, even without her hearty agreement with our plan to leave the freehold. I pick at the flakes of dried blood soaked into my jeans, my stomach on fire, both from the gunshot wounds and the guilt of Roux and Gerald's deaths. The dog comes over, wagging happily, unaware of the tragedy surrounding him. I wipe the blood from my hand onto the hospital gown and pet the top of his head. My ears perk up, as I hear the queen mention Gerald's name. Rachel says something about his wife and child, and I feel little sympathy for either human.

_this is the worst thing that will happen to either of them. they cant possibly know what its like to be taken into a nightmare place like we were to manage to break free of there to be cut down by one of your own. their grief is so simple and manageable_

We're ushered out of the farmhouse, piling back into Rachel's car. I climb into the back seat, leaning my head against the window as Rachel drives us to the port. She keeps the radio off, the car remaining eerily silent until I suddenly say, "Roots," Liam and Daisy share similar expressions of confusion, then recognition. "Daisy, he gave something to you. Right after..."

"Right after he broke down the door," Daisy finishes. "Holy shit, I remember. But," he reaches down between his feet, opening a briefcase and retrieving the burlap rags he previous wore. Patting down the front of the shirt, his expression is disbelieving until he pulls a folded sheaf of paper from the pocket. He turns to look at Liam and I in the backseat. "I'm pretty fucking sure this wasn't in my pocket before." He glances at the paper. "It's a map." We pull up to the harbor, and Daisy stows the map back in his briefcase. "We'll have plenty of time to look at it on our way to Vermont," he comments.

The three of us climb out of the car, Rachel exiting the vehicle as well, after brief contemplation. "Thanks Rachel, for bringing us out here." Daisy and the fox-faced woman embrace for a moment, before she turns to me.

"Maze, come over here," she requests, holding her hand out.

"Uh," I press my hand against my stomach, shaking my head. "I'm not much of a hugger, but thanks."

Rachel rolls her eyes, stepping close to me and pushing my hand aside to replace it with her own. I'm about to protest when my skin grows warm under her palm, and a soft, sunny glow comes from the area around her hand. After a few minutes, she pulls away, and I pull the hospital gown up, staring at my torso in wonder. There's still a slightly red, twisting wound on my stomach and side, but the injury looks weeks old instead of hours old. The pain has dulled to a tolerable ache. "Well, shit. Thanks," I comment. Rachel nods, patting Liam on the shoulder before climbing back into her car and driving away.

Liam, Daisy and I approach the boat. It seems to be sparsely manned, with several large shipping containers towards the stern. There's no sight of the changeling Roux mentioned. 

So," Daisy starts, "are we trying to legally board this boat, or are we taking the stowaway route?"

Still dressed in burlap rags, the pilfered cold iron chain carefully wrapped around his waist, Liam answers, "Stowaway."

Glancing down at my bloody hospital gown and jeans combo, I affectionately stroke the baseball bat hanging from my belt and reply, "Stowaway."

Daisy sighs, holding his briefcase under one arm as he buttons his sport coat over the butter yellow dress shirt underneath. "Stowaway, it is." And one by one, we stealthily board the boat, leaving Saint Jean, its kindness, its tragedy and its ghosts behind.


	5. Chapter 5

Richlieu River. Sept of 2000.

A sliver of light, a line no larger than an inch wide, briefly illuminates the dark shipping container. For the twentieth time, I see Daisy peering through the crack, attempting to see something different than the nothing he's viewed the previous nineteen times he's sneaked the door open. I catch a glimpse of Liam in the corner adjacent to mine, unflinchingly allowing his largest spider, aptly named Charlotte, to crawl up his cheek. I stretch my legs out in front of me, resting my bat against my thighs as I bark out a harsh whisper, "Will you stop opening that damned door? Eventually someone is going to fucking see it and find us in here."

Daisy grumbles, but quietly shuts the door, rendering our surroundings dark once more. I hear him climb up on one of the cardboard boxes with an overdramatic sigh.

Rolling my bat back and forth against my palms, I break the silence once more. "What do you remember about your time over there?" I feel a beetle climbing over my fingers, likely from a crack in the wood of my bat. "Either of you," I add. "Both of you."

"Spiders," Liam answers, quietly. "And a lot of pain."

It's quiet for a few minutes, before Daisy replies, "The client wanted legal consultation from me. I'd have to go over pages and pages of incomprehensible legal jargon, and try to make sense from nonsense." He laughs, but it's a dull, humorless sound. "Imagine the Keeper handing you a book of complete gibberish and telling you he wants to file a lawsuit against the concept of shadows for breach of contract. I can tell you firsthand, the right answer is not 'maybe just turn some lights on'." I hear him shudder in the dark.

Confused, I reply: "I don't really get it, but I don't think I'm supposed to."

"At least you were able to get something out of your time over there," comments Liam.

"I think we all got something from over there. Not that it was worth it." A pause, before Daisy continues. "Speaking of which, looks like you're all buddy buddy with the spiders now. What's that, Stockholm Syndrome?"

Liam makes a quiet clicking sound, likely communicating with aforementioned arachnids. "They were only doing what they were forced to do, when he made them bite," In a not-so-subtle subject change, he asks, "How'd you get the daisies?"

Daisy laughs again. "That's just a stupid story from when I was, well... from before. Mr. Daisy was a nickname I had, and the Keeper started using it, too. It just kind of stuck, in more ways than one." I hear the cardboard under Daisy shifting, as he turns towards my corner. "What about you, Maze? What's your story?"

_im pretty sure i used to fight other changelings to the death in the pits. im pretty sure ive died dozens of times._

"I don't remember," I retort, too quickly, too fiercely. My reply hangs in the air awkwardly, dampening the previous conversation back into silence. I pull my knees up, wrapping my arms around them and sighing. 

I'm about to open my mouth to attempt to give Daisy and Liam some sort of explanation, when I hear a man's cough, not too far from our hiding spot. Daisy must not hear it, because he starts to speak and I immediately whisper a harsh, "shut up" in his direction. The cough comes again, and this time everyone hears it. We sit in a tense silence, as the coughing grows in both severity and proximity. I quietly scoot closer to Liam and Daisy, gripping my bat in one hand as the coughing tapers off right in front of the the shipping container.

The door is pushed open, and thin wisps of smog puff into the stale air of the container. A man stands in the opening, clearing his throat as the smog wafts off of his skin. "What in the hell? Nobody told me we had another three getting on this route," he exclaims, punctuating his statement with a cough.

Liam and I climb to our feet, instinctively looking to Daisy as he slips off the box he was sitting on. Daisy wipes the dust off the back of his pants and replies, "We weren't exactly scheduled passengers. We're from Saint Jean."

The man has another brief coughing fit, managing to get out, "Saint Jean? Roux sent you, then?"

_fuck._

I answer before Daisy can, and he shoots me a disgruntled look. "Roux told us about this boat, but he," I pause, "he's dead. He was killed."

"Roux's dead?" The man rubs a hand over his face, staring upwards. "Jesus christ. What in the hell happened over there?"

Daisy replies quickly and professionally. "There was an incident, and we had to get out of there pretty quickly. From what Roux told us, we thought we'd be safe heading to the states."

A cough, then the man replies, "Be a lot safer if I'd known you were here. It's been hard enough making up a story for the one downstairs." He shakes his head. "I was good friends with Roux," he trails off, his words dissolving into coughing.

"I'm Mr. Daisy," announces Daisy. "That's Liam and Maze," he follows up with, pointing to each of us in turn. 

"My name's Dan," the man coughs out. "I can get you guys a change of clothes and some food, but there's not much I can do until the crew goes to their quarters for the night. I can sneak you down with the other guy after that."

_other guy?_

"We'd appreciate anything you do for us," I pipe up. 

Dan nods. "I'll be back to grab you all in a few hours. Keep quiet and don't pull any crazy shit if anyone comes around. Just try to stall them until I find you."

Later on, Dan comes to collect us, toting a flannel bag of assorted clothing. He leads us across the empty stern of the boat, his frequent coughing masking the sound of our footsteps. I look out towards the moonlit water as we walk, momentarily taken aback at the sight of the vast river.

_when was the last time i saw a body of water? have i ever seen a body of water?_

Unaware that we've stopped walking, I run into the back of Liam, earning a scathing look before he turns his attention forward. Dan unlocks a door that leads to short, narrow stairs. "There's lodging down there. It's not five star," Daisy scowls. "but it's clean and you all can lock it behind you." He hands the bag of clothing to Liam. "There should be something in there that'll fit the two of you," he gestures to me and Liam as he ushers us into the stairwell. "Woody will show you where everything is."

At the last statement, Daisy asks, "Who's Woody?"

A voice from the bottom of the stairs answers, "I'm Woody," and Dan waves to a set of legs and a pair of sneakers before closing the door in our faces. The voice comes again. "You just going to hang in the stairwell all night?" The three of us share a wary glance, no one making a move. "I've got some booze down here..." and Daisy nearly barrels Liam and I over as he rushes down the stairs.

I follow after, at a far more leisurely pace, and Liam begrudgingly trails behind me. In a room at the bottom of the stairs, Daisy is accepting a bottle of liquor from a man made of wood, resembling an adult sized Pinocchio.

From my cage, I can see the man made of wood _woody_ moving around the perimeter of the Pits, walking between the stands. The goblins working the betting boxes nail stacks of paper to his body, and after reaching the last box, he turns and jogs back up the stands, out of the Pits. I see him often, after every big fight, taking bets and odds from the Pits to the other areas of the Green Mountain.

I see him again, at a glance, as Roots breaks open the ceramic door keeping us trapped.

"You're Woody?" I ask, even though I know the answer. 

The man nods, extending a hand with fingers jointed like a puppets. "Yup. Woody Harrelson, no relation."

I keep my arms crossed, staring at his offered hand.

Liam scoffs. "That's a joke, right? Fucking... Woody Harrelson?"

Woody retracts his hand and grins at Liam, repeating, "No relation."

Finally pulling the bottle from his mouth, Daisy hands it back to Woody, significantly lighter than before. He unbuttons the top few buttons of his dress shirt and asks, "How long have you been on this boat, Mr. Harrelson?"

Taking a long drink from the passed bottle, Woody offers it to Liam and I before answering. "Been on here 'bout a month. Been out in general for a month."

"You're from the Green Mountain." Liam and Daisy turn their attention to me, their expressions inquisitive. "I remember seeing you."

The grin that seems painted on Woody's face wilts slightly. "I ah," he pauses. "I guess I am."

"Huh." I stare at him a moment longer before walking over to Liam and grabbing the bag of clothes from him. I dump the assortment of pants and tops onto a chair, pawing through the clothing and tossing a dress out of my way with a skeptical look. 

Liam joins me, picking up a pair of jeans and muttering, "thank christ," as he strips down naked, much to Woody's alarm. I find cargo pants that look roughly my size, and shimmy out of Gerald's blood stained jeans, causing Woody to brusquely turn to face the wall. Sharing a confused look with Liam, I pull off the hospital gown and shuffle through the clothes, looking for a suitable top. 

Daisy snags Woody's bottle while he's turned away, taking a long drink, unconcerned by the gratuitous nudity in front of him. He sets the bottle down and retrieves his briefcase, pulling out the folded map Roots slipped to him. He studies the front of it as he asks Woody, "Where are you headed to once the boat docks?"

Woody glances over to Daisy, shielding his face to prevent seeing Liam or I. "Honestly? No idea. What about you guys?"

Opening the map, Daisy answers, "New England, according to Roots."

Pulling a shirt over the exoskeleton that covers his chest and the red hourglass shaped mark on his stomach, Liam walks over to Daisy, glancing down at the map. "New England?" His eyes move from spot to spot on the unfolded paper. "Oh. Holy shit. Maze, you might want to look at this."

Checking on my stitches, I tug the hem of the muscle shirt back down and fasten my bat to my belt. Peering down over the top of the map, I can see what looks like dozens of handwritten notes over the roads and landmarks. The same amount of annotations are jotted in the margins on the back of the map. My silent query must evoke Woody's curiosity enough to risk viewing indecent exposure, because he quickly turns around to look over Daisy's other shoulder. His overly glassy, artificial looking eyes skim impossibly fast over the scribbled notes.

"We're on Richlieu River now, and it looks like there's a harbor just past Isle La Motte," Daisy starts.

"And the 'great bench'." Woody interjects.

"Yes. That," Daisy continues. "St. Albans Town, Vermont seems a good place to start as any. We're going to be looking at farms and woods for awhile, no matter which direction we go."

Daisy, Liam and Woody continue to discuss travel plans, as I study every note and its location on the map. One area in Vermont catches my attention, and my brow furrows, my stomach feeling full of something hot and bulky. Roots added no notes to this location, but maybe he thought the spot spoke for itself. Green Mountain National Forest.


	6. Chapter 6

St Albans Town, Vermont. Sept of 2000.

Dan is all too happy to herd us off the boat once we hit the docks. He wishes us all good luck between coughing fits, seeming almost genuine in Woody's case. The four of us stand at the pier, looking like a motely crew of outsiders. Liam picks one of the spiders from his hair, placing it on the front of his shirt. "So," he starts, "I feel like there's a lot of stuff that we need and no way to get it."

Daisy, scribbling in a notepad, doesn't look up from the paper. "Not necessarily. I might be able to pull some strings, and if what I'm got here works out the way it's supposed to, it should make things a little easier." 

Looking over his shoulder, unable to discern anything from his chicken scratch, I reply, "Yeah? Are you going to explain that, or?"

Scratching his nose with the end of his pen, Daisy pauses for a moment before turning back to the notepad, writing as he speaks. "I'm writing a pledge. For us."

"A what?" asks Woody.

"A pledge is changeling contract. Supernaturally binding, you know? Can be beneficial to one or all parties involved." Before anyone can interject, he adds, "This one would be beneficial to all of us, obviously. An oath to protect each other, within certain limits. We swear on something of importance - a memory, your true name, it can even be the keeper - and the Wyrd grants us an endowment of sorts." He stops writing, looking up at the three of us. "In this case, I was thinking that money might be useful."

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea at all," comments Woody. "I have some cash, if there's stuff we need now. I worked while I was on the boat, Dan just paid me under the table."

Simultaneously, Daisy says, "We could rent a hotel room."

I reply: "We should buy shit for camping, hiking..."

Liam replies, "We need to get a car."

Woody looks at the three of us, trying to separate each request. He points to Liam, "A car is definitely a good idea." Rubbing his chin, he contemplates. "Not going to be able to get one on the up and up, but I can make a couple of calls, maybe. Get one that's street legal enough for basic pull over plate scan."

Almost appearing impressed, Daisy stows his pen in his pocket. "A car would make it easier to get to New York."

My expression is the only confused one as I ask, "New York?" 

Liam nudges me with his elbow. "They were talking about it back on the boat, when you were doing that thing you do where you stare at one fixed spot for way too long but everyone's too scared of you to snap you out of it." Daisy and Woody nod in agreement.

"Oh." I cross my arms. "Well, I still think we should get some camping gear. Tents, sleeping bags, stuff like that. Sounds like we're going to be on the move for awhile."

"Yeah, we can do that. Town like this probably has a Sunny's Surplus every couple blocks," Woody comments, looking out past the parking lot.

"So uh," Daisy slaps his notebook against his palm. "Do we want to do this pledge?"

_swear to protect these guys? these three people i barely know?_

"Absolutely," I respond immediately, earning an appreciative nod from Daisy.

_i would fight for these guys. id protect these asshole with my life._

"I'm in," states Woody.

After a moment, Liam adds, "Sure, why not."

Daisy seems pleased. "Alright. Since we all have the same keeper, we can swear on the Lord of Green Mountain. We stick to the pledge, everything is fantastic. If anyone breaks the pledge, the keeper is immediately made aware of where that person is, no matter where they are. Got it?" 

When we nod in agreement, he reads some flowery sounding prose from his notepad and I feel a momentary warmth in my chest that might just be heartburn. Woody raises an eyebrow, looking from person to person. "Is that it? Should we hug each other or something?"

Liam responds, "I'd rather fucking die," and stalks off in the direction of the main road.

"Not if you want to keep both your kidneys," I comment, before heading in the same direction.

The old pervert behind the register is leering down the front of my tank top, and it's a struggle to keep my composure as he rings up Liam and I's purchases. 

_god i fucking hate humans_

I do point out once his ogling cause him to double scan a flashlight, causing the old man to wheedle out, "Oh I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'll make sure to fix that for you." I step on Liam's foot, shaking my head at him as he opens his mouth, likely to tear the man a new asshole. Liam gives me a puzzled look, but doesn't say anything. Eventually, the cashier finishes scanning and gives us the total. Liam tosses the cash on the counter, snatching the change and the bags up as soon as they're handed over. 

Once we're outside and a distance away from the store, he turns to me. "Why the hell didn't you kick the shit out of the fucking pervert?"

I start emptying my pockets of all the items I shoplifted from the store. "It was a lot easier to take this shit with his attention on my tits and not my hands." Unzipping my recently purchased backpack, I load the items into appropriate sections. Adding a few purchases from the bags, I zip the pack shut again and slide it onto my shoulders, pleased with my small collection of belongings.

Liam cracks a smile, appreciative when I toss a high quality hunting knife in his direction. "Thanks," he says, slipping the sheath onto his belt. He leans against a planter, looking towards the vast farmlands. "Hopefully Daisy and Pinocchio don't take for-fucking-ever."

I place my hand at the top of my bat. "Hopefully nothing happens to them."

"If those two are still after us, we have a half a state head start on them, so I'm not worried." Liam coaxes Charlotte onto his hand, petting the top of the spider's abdomen with one finger, unconcerned.

I keep my eyes on the roads, and wait for Daisy and Woody to return.

A few cars come and go, but eventually a large, rusted hulk of a truck comes driving in our direction. By reflex, my hand goes to my bat, only relaxing once Daisy rolls the window down and waves us over. His expression, if not happy, is at least content. Woody however, seems ecstatic in the driver's seat. Some sort of screamy rock and roll is coming through the staticky radio, and he's tapping out a beat on the patched pleather steering wheel cover. Liam makes a face, tossing the tent and the bags in the bed of the truck before climbing in the back seat. I pull my backpack off, ducking into the cramped seat behind Daisy and squishing the backpack between my feet. 

"Isn't she beautiful?" Woody shouts over the music. "I've gotta get some gas in her, but the nearest station isn't for a few miles!" Turning his head slightly, catching the less than pleased expressions of his passengers, he turns the volume of the music down until it's similar to a whispering ghost, fading in and out with the reception. "So uh, do you guys have friends in the city? Where are we headed once we reach New York?"

"We'll be heading straight to hell if you don't keep your eyes on the damned road," Liam snipes. He nods towards Daisy with a smirk. "New York is all Daisy's scene. He used to be a big time mobster or something, right Daisy?"

I stay quiet, rolling my window down and hanging my head slightly out of the window, allowing the fresh air to smack me in the face and knot my hair.

Daisy, once more writing in his note pad, glances up as if just noticing he's in a car full of people. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I was the king pin. They called me 'Daisy' cause that's what you'd be pushing up if you ever got on my bad side." I give a short bark of laughter.

"Yeah, Daisy's a badass." Liam zips his hoodie up against the breeze. "What about you, Pinocchio? Where are you from?"

Woody's plastered on smile from listening to Daisy and Liam's banter fades a bit. "I couldn't tell you, honestly."

Without pulling my head from the window, I query, "How come you're the only one who remembers where they're from, Daisy?"

"I kind of remember. I was just a kid, so it was a long time ago." Liam responds. His tone takes on a glimmer of hope, as he quietly adds. "I wonder what my parents will say when they see me now?"

I twist in my seat, staring at Liam in distaste. "Are you serious? Do you really think you're just going to be able to jump into your old life like that?" I can't help the accusatory inflection in my words as I continue, "You're not one of them anymore, Liam. None of us are who we were before. None of us are /what/ we were before."

Liam seems to deflate, as the hint of a smile leaves his face. He drops his eyes to the floor of the truck. "Well, I just thought if I explained it to them," he grips the edges of the seat in frustration. "I hoped that..."

Daisy flips the sun visor down, scowling at me in the mirror before reaching back to pat Liam's knee. "Hey, don't worry about it. We can look around for your parents. It's not like we have much else to do, besides sit around and feel sorry for ourselves." He glares at me again.

_they dont get it. they dont get how completely and utterly their lives have changed. you cant go back._

Confused by Daisy and Liam's responses, I shrug. "At least I'm realistic while I'm feeling sorry for myself." I rest my head against the window frame once more.

"Y'know all things considered," Woody chimes in. "I feel like we're all doing exceptionally better than we were a month ago." He looks in the rearview mirror at Liam. "Your family supposed to be in New York?"

"No," states Liam, still sulking. He pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up, allowing the spiders to crawl over his face. His expression softens somewhat.

"I don't know enough about what I was doing a month ago to say if I'm doing better or not." I hear the faint ghost of applause in my ears, and I stick my head further out the window to block the sound. "I haven't been shot, or in a situation where I might be shot in at least an hour or two. Bright side, I guess."

"You are just a ray of sunshine, Maze." Daisy chides. "Truly the wind beneath our wings, our light in the dark, the very force that keeps us moving." I smirk slightly as he turns his attention to Woody. "New York is my destination. I don't remember the fine details, but the broad strokes are all there and I want to see how things turned out. After that is Liam's place, then where ever Mazikeen decides to go." He arches an eyebrow. "Where are you off to, Mr. Harrelson? Hollywood?"

"Well, for now I imagine my route goes wherever you all are going. At least until one of you figures out how to drive a car, and gets the necessary licensing to not get thrown into central booking driving said car." Another out of place grin crosses his lips. "As far as Hollywood, no relation. Couldn't tell you what my actual name is. Was? I don't know. One of ours back on that ship called me Woody my first day on. Name stuck."

I pull my head back into the cab, staring at Woody with a deadpan expression. "Yeah? Why would they call you that?" Daisy lets out a laugh. 

Woody replies, "I haven't the slightest," as he pulls the truck into a gas station and hops out. 

Liam also exits the truck, heading towards the attached convenience store. Daisy yells: "Grab me some doughnuts!" at his retreating form.

Woody fills up the tank and is back in the truck before Liam. The radio continues to warble quietly in the background, just barely heard over the sound of Daisy's pen scribbling in his note book. The transformer box on the corner of the street begins buzzing obnoxiously, causing the lights on the gas pumps overhang to pop and hum. Suddenly on edge, I rub the back of my neck, smoothing down the staticky fur under my dreads. I'm relieved to finally see Liam walking out of the store until I hear an out of place voice in the car. Daisy looks up from his notepad. "Did you guys he-" 

I reach forward and cover his mouth, just as a droning, menacing voice comes from the stereo speakers. "Oh! /There/ they are!" 

"Start the fucking truck," I tell Woody, sliding over to Liam's open door and shouting his name. I hear electricity crackling from above the roof and see Liam's eyes widening in panic as he stares at something over my head. "Liam! Truck!" I hear Daisy cursing as I jump out of the truck and dash across the lot to Liam, yanking his arm to get him moving. He jerks in my grasp, as a bolt of lightning barely misses him. It's enough to shock him out of his panic, and he pushes me ahead of him as we run back to the truck. I risk a glance above my head and see Godwin, haloed in electricity, his hand clutching a leash with a slavering Elekite at the end of it. My heartbeat triples in time as I dive into the back of the truck. I hear a crack as Godwin throws down another bolt, and Liam cries out in pain. I reach over, pulling him through the door by his elbows, feeling the residual current still running through his body. There's the sound of something heavy hitting the ground, and I hear the scrape of Elekite's tail and claws against asphalt right before Woody peels wheels out of the lot. 

I manage to keep Liam from sliding out of the seat, and pull the passenger door shut behind him. A glance in the back window looks like a fireworks show, but Woody's expert driving takes us further and further away. Woody's shouting questions at us, but I ignore him, slapping Liam's cheek with increasing strength until he responds. "Liam. Li! Fucking talk to me!"

His eyes flutter, then fully open, the pupils dilated in alarm. Liam sits up quickly, wincing and looking out each window at the quickly passing scenery. "What... what happened?" He looks down at the scorched fabric of his sweatshirt, lifting it to reveal a sizable burn on the skin underneath. "Nevermind, I remember." Another panicked look as he gently pats down the hood of his sweatshirt, removing several dead spiders with a stricken look. He continues searching until I point above his head, where Charlotte rests in a small web spun in the fallen roof liner. Liam gives a sigh of relief, and I give him the tiniest smile.

"Jesus fucking christ. Jesus christ." Daisy scrubs at his face with his hands, looking back at Liam, then at me. "How the fuck did they find us so fast? How did they find us at all? Jesus christ!" The stereo gives a brief flare of static and he snaps the radio off with a horrified expression.

Finally slowing the truck to a less than emergency speed, Woody loosens his death grip on the steering wheel and with a forced casual tone, asks: "Would one of you like to explain to me what the fuck just happened back there?"

Liam scoops Charlotte off of the roof liner, cradling her in his hands and almost curling into himself, either unaware that Woody spoke or ignoring the other man.

I look to Daisy, stating, "You're the only one who hasn't gotten an asskicking from Godwin or Elekite yet, you fucking tell him about them," before I lean my head against the window and stare at some fixed point in the ever approaching distance.


	7. Chapter 7

Fairfax, Vermont. Sept of 2000.

The coarse bark of my laugh echoes in the confines of the area. The injured creature before me turns his lacerated muzzle towards the applauding crowd, howling in agony and terror, his claws scrabbling against the rock wall as he struggles to climb from the pit. He attempts to crawl away as I stalk forward on all fours to deliver the killing blow. In desperation, he rolls onto his back, exposing his furred underbelly in a crude show of surrender. The cheers and applause reach a fever pitch as I lunge at his prone form, burying my face and teeth in his soft gut. Tearing open the flesh, I'm quickly soaked in the shrieking creature's blood as I bite and snap at his insides, swallowing whole chunks of entrails. I eat until the screaming stops, until the cleaners are dragging the masticated body back to his cage.

Panting, licking residual blood from my fur, I wait for one of the goblins to lead me back to my own cage. My ears perk up, head tilting in the direction of the stands as something walks the perimeter of the arena. Instead of a goblin appearing at the entrance to the pit, it's one of the changelings that hunt on the outskirts of the Green Mountain, dragging a small, teenaged boy by his root-like hair. He shoves Roots into the pit, the boy landing in a heap in the dirt. The hunter spits on the ground. "Look who we caught again." He swings his foot forward, catching Roots in the side. The boy grunts in pain, but makes no effort to stand. "Teach him a lesson," he demands. I start to approach the hunter instead, lip lifting as I snarl at him. Turning his attention to me, he sneers. "Don't be a bad dog, you know who's giving me the orders." Hackles raised, I back down, instead turning my hostility towards the boy on the ground, accepting him as another meal.

The truck hits a bump and my head bounces against the window, jostling me out of my memories. My stomach growls audibly, and I reach between my legs, retrieving a bag of jerky from my backpack. I stare out the ominously gray sky window as I chew.

_i remember what we taste like. i remember what roots tastes like._

I swallow the chunk of dried meat just as a rumble of thunder lightly vibrates the frame of the truck. In the seat next to me, I see Liam's hand tighten slightly around his bottle of chocolate milk, his whitening knuckles the only outward sign of his anxiety. 

Daisy, looking out at the seemingly endless farmland and darkening horizon, speaks for the first time in almost an hour. "It looks like there's a fuck of a storm coming."

His eyes zipping back and forth, Woody stares at the road ahead. "Right. Might be a good idea for us to park and bunk down somewhere for the night." 

Waiting for, and receiving no input from Liam or I, Daisy retrieves Roots' map. After a moment of study, he mentions, "There's an area just ahead called 100 Acre Woods. We could park the truck somewhere near there, off the road." 

"Good idea," Woody replies. "Gives us the benefit of a quick getaway if we need it."

They both fall silent, as if waiting for additional commentary. After a moment, I add, "Sure. I can put the tent up in the truck bed so we can all try to get some sleep." Satisfied, Daisy starts directing Woody towards our destination.

The first sprinkles of rain start falling as Liam and I are setting the tent up. We get the final pole in place, and I toss the sleeping bags into the unzipped front when a drop hits me on the cheek. I half close my eyes, turning my face up to the dusky sky as the rain starts in earnest, quickly soaking my fur and clothing. The air fills with the scent of ozone and damp earth as the sound of pattering drops grows louder. 

_this feels like freedom. weather, and the sky and clouds opening up. i didn't have this in there._

I open my eyes and see Liam in a similar stance, with a similar expression. I shake my head, flinging rain from my dreads and fur onto Liam and he opens one eye to grimace at me. "You smell like a wet dog," he gripes.

"Yeah? You smell like a wet... spider," I retort, fighting a smile.

He smirks, elbowing me as he climbs into the truck bed and gets in the tent. After peering into the cab to check on Woody and Daisy, I follow suit, zipping the flap behind me and rolling my sleeping bag out over the foam mats Liam laid out. I crawl into the bag, tucking my bat in with me and staring up at the polyester roof of the tent. The rain continues to fall outside, and thunder rumbles regularly. I silently wonder if Liam has fallen asleep, until a flash of lighting follows one of the thunderclaps, briefly brightening the inside of the tent and showing his distressed position mirroring my own. We both lay stiff through the rest of the storm, shivering like lost puppies every time the lightning streaks over the truck.

The storm must taper off enough for me to have fallen asleep, because I open my eyes to muted moonlight illuminating the interior of the tent. Liam, tucked into his sleeping bag so that only the top of his head is shown, is still snoring softly. I untangle myself from my own bedroll, grab my bat, and quietly slip out of the tent. A louder duet of snoring comes from the truck's cab. The full moon hangs fat and bright above the thick forest of trees behind the truck, and the rain has drawn out a chorus of peepfrogs. Nose twitching at the scent of wet woods and hidden game, I lope into the forest, feeling more comfortable in the wilderness than I have out in public. I test out my scrounging skills, finding some edible nuts and berries and placing them in ziploc bags for later. Hunting doesn't come as easily, my reflexes seeming too dull, as if I'm wrapped in bubblewrap and trying to move underwater. I keep tracking, however. Following my nose, each smell more enticing than the next. I don't notice that my nose has lead me to someone's small campfire until I've already stumbled into the clearing. It's even more of a shock when the camper spots me and, with a mumbled expletive, the seven foot tall ogre climbs to his feet. The boar-like changeling is no less a threat with only one arm, and my hand goes to my bat as he moves into an offensive position.

Two gray, calloused hands grasp the sides of my head, fingers lining up along my jaw. My legs scrabble at the blood soaked dirt underneath me, trying to gain purchase enough to get back on my feet. The ogre pushes his heel into my back, pinning me beneath his considerable weight. I reach up, digging my claws into his hands and arms, desperately trying to break his grip. I feel him begin to twist my head, the bones and tendons in my neck stretching, straining, tearing, and then...

"I don't want to fight you," I state to the ogre, my hand still on my bat.

His eyes tick to the weapon, then back to my face. He doesn't move from his spot before replying, "Um, that's a weird way of showing it."

Despite my better judgement, I drop my grasp on the handle and show him both my empty palms. To my surprise, the ogre immediately straightens out of his offensive stance, staring at me for a moment before sitting back down on the log he was occupying before my interruption. I watch as, one handed, he manages to impale two plucked chickens with sharpened sticks. Planting the sticks in the dirt, he leans them over the fire and the air fills with the aroma of cooking meat. I'm almost convinced he's forgotten I'm there until he looks back up at me, wordlessly returning my awkward stare. Without knowing exactly what's going to come out of it, I open my mouth, saying, "I'm sorry about your arm."

The ogre give me a strange look before smiling, his lips stretched slightly by the tusks in his bottom jaw. "It's not a big deal, the other one works fine."

I take a few steps closer towards his small campsite. "I remember you. You got out when we did, I remember that." My heartrate picks up a little. "I remember..." I lose my nerve, not wanting to speak aloud of anything regarding my time in the Pits. "I'm Maze."

Scooting over on the log, the ogre gestures for me to sit. After a moments hesitation, I comply, gazing hungrily at the roasting chicken before turning my attention to his boar-like face. "I'm Trog," he states. "I can remember some stuff." He scratches his bristly, black hair, staring at my bat for a moment. "I think I remember seeing you." He reaches out, turning the sticks so that the other sides of the chicken face the fire. "I've been laying low since I got out. Sticking to the woods, keeping away from people. I can't hide this," he gestures to his face, "like the rest of us can."

"Oh?" I studying his face, the gray skin, heavy jaw and tusks. "Oh. Well, people are severely overrated, trust me." Trog laughs, and I smile a little. "I've been with the guys, Liam, Daisy and Woody. We've only been out for ah, two days."

Trog replies, "Two days? No shit."

I stare into the fire. "Yeah. Hasn't been great. Two days, and just as many attempts on our lives." I let out a fake, uncomfortable sounding laugh.

"Wait, what? Are you serious?" Trog asks, sounding legitimately concerned.

"Two guys from the Green Mountain. Godwin and Elekite. They found us the night we got out, and somehow found us once we got here in Vermont." I lift the bottom of my shirt, showing Trog the still healing bullet wounds. "I got these and Liam got a thousand volts shot up his ass."

"Godwin," Trog repeats, looking like he's struggling to remember something. "Was he... He was the one that did this?" He touches his left shoulder, where his arm should be, and I nod. "I've been dreaming about them, I think."

Frowning, I reply, "I heard it's a good idea for Lost to sleep together, that way we can protect each other in our dreams." I feel a pang in my chest, remembering Roux's guidance.

"That's smart." Trog pokes at one of the chickens, testing their doneness. Seemingly satisfied, he wrenches one of the stakes from the dirt and offers it to me. "You can sleep here, if you want."

Unnerved by his verbal and nonverbal offer, I simply stare at Trog for a moment before replying, "That's your food. I don't want to take your food."

He shakes the chicken at me, wafting its delicious scent in my face. "Eat it," he demands.

I reluctantly take the food, grumbling my appreciation as he retrieves his own meal and digs in. After a few bites of the hot, delicious meat, I casually say, "Guess I can sleep here for the night. The truck and the guys aren't too far away, and this way you've got backup if anyone fucks with your dreams, or whatever."

Trog grunts a positive, but incoherent reply through a mouthful of food. Once we're done eating, he rolls out a large, wool barn blanket and spreads it out near the campfire. "Sorry I don't have a tent or sleeping bags or anything," he says as he lays down. 

Shrugging, I lay down on the other side of the blanket, using my backpack as a pillow. "I have mine back at the truck, but it's no big deal. It's pretty warm and, y'know," I shift on the blanket a little before repeating, "no big deal."

Trog falls silent, as do I. The fire continues its low crackle, the damp logs occasionally popping and causing the flames to momentarily flare brighter. An owl hoots somewhere deeper in the woods. I feel the blanket move as Trog turns on his side, the large ogre seeming restless. Pushing my bookbag towards the middle of the blanket, I roll over as well, feeling strangely isolated despite the close proximity of another person. After a moment, I scoot closer in Trog's direction. He must have moved too, because when I turn on my side, I'm alarmed to find myself within inches of his face. I gracelessly roll onto my back, staring up at the treetops, embarrassed. I feel his arm cross my body, his hand grabbing my shoulder and rolling me onto my side to face him again. He meets my gaze for a moment, before his eyes drift closed and he pulls me against his chest. I lay there, his arm draped over my back, listening as his breathing turns to a steady snore. A myriad of emotions hurl around my thoughts, but I manage to force them aside for long enough to rest my head against Trog's rumbling chest, enjoy the affection, and fall into a peaceful sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Fairfax, Vermont. Sept of 2000.

"MAZE!"

"...what the fuck," I mumble, briefly confused at both my surroundings and the shouting. Blinking the crust from my eyes, I'm quickly reminded of my location by the sound of Trog's snoring. I hear my name being called again, so I carefully slip out from under Trog's arm, yawning widely as I sit up and look in the direction of the shout. "What?" I snap, seeing Liam, Daisy and Woody standing around the campsite.

Woody is the first to reply, gesturing at me, at Trog, then back at me, his expression incredulous. "Did you just fuck some random guy in the woods?"

"Ex-fucking-scuse me?" I reply.

Daisy interrupts me, holding his hands up. "Hey, whoa hey. Don't jump to conclusions." He looks over Trog's sleeping form for a minute, then back at me. "/Did/ you just fuck some random guy in the woods?"

Liam snorts laughter as I flip all three of them the bird. There's movement behind me, and I hear Trog ask: "Are your friends always this loud early in the morning?" as he sits up. 

"It's not that early, it's almost 8:00am," Woody replies, causing Trog and I to groan in tandem. "So sorry that we disturbed your beauty sleep, but we got kinda worried when Liam said Maze was missing."

"Right," I respond guiltily. "I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk. Found Trog on my walk. He's from our place."

"Roots used your arm as a battering ram, I remember that," comments Liam.

Trog stands up, cracking his back as he stretches. "Yeah. Guess that was me." I stand up as well, folding up the blanket and placing it on the log.

"Where are you headed?" Daisy asks, looking towards Trog. 

"To this farmhouse just through the woods here. I've been stealing chickens and eggs from their barn," he replies.

I shoot Daisy a glare, as he looks like he's going to say something smartassed. Instead, he says, "I meant, when you move on from here."

"Oh," says Trog. "Haven't really thought of that. I've just been walking, trying to stay out of sight."

Keeping my tone casual, I comment, "Why don't you uh, come along with us? We're headed to New York. It'd be better than you being off on your own, right?" I make the mistake of glancing at Liam, who's got a knowing smirk on his face for some reason. Glowering slightly, I turn my attention back to Trog.

Trog smiles briefly, his tusks stretching his lip. "That would be cool, if nobody minds." Daisy and Woody voice their assent. "I can lay out in the truck bed, since the cabs pretty full." He looks out towards the east. "You guys want to grab some breakfast? That farmhouse I was talking about isn't too far."

I nod, turning to the guys. "It's safer than driving into the city."

Liam seems enthusiastic. "Shit, if the house is empty, I'm going in and grabbing some more clothes while we're there."

Pointing at Liam, Daisy grins. "That. That is a great fucking idea."

"I don't remember seeing burglary on the itinerary for today, but alright." Woody tucks his hands in his pockets and looks to Trog. "Lead the way, buddy."

Trog look from the guys to me, expression puzzled. I give him a half smile and shrug my shoulders. Shrugging his one shoulder, he turns and starts leading us through the woods.

The farmhouse is almost too fancy looking for a farmhouse, which apparently makes Daisy and Liam happy. I make a face at the perfectly painted exterior and leveled driveway that again, much to Daisy and Liam's happiness, is currently unoccupied. The barn is noisy with livestock, but when we exit the corn field between the woods and the property, Trog elects to come to the house with us. 

"Is there usually a car outside here?" Daisy asks Trog.

"I always sneak over before the sun comes up, but uh," Trog pauses to think. "Yeah, there's usually a car parked out front."

"We should still make sure no one is home," says Liam, and Daisy nods. The two of them climb up the porch, waving the rest of us away as Liam hits the doorbell.

Woody wanders towards a shed on the other side of the house, and Trog and I head in the opposite direction. There's a storm cellar on our side of the house, with a sturdy looking door, double padlocked. I can hear the doorbell chiming from somewhere inside and look up to an open window on the second floor. "Hey," I call to Trog. "Can you give me a boost?"

Trog comes over, glancing up at the window. "Sure." Bending down so that I can climb onto his back, he asks, "What are you going to do if there's someone inside?" He slowly stands, holding onto my ankle as I balance on his shoulders. I brace myself against the side of the house for support.

With my bat swinging at my side, I look down at him and shrug, feigning innocence. "Claim I'm selling Avon products?" Grabbing onto the window ledge, I lift myself up to my elbows, feet leaving Trog's shoulders, then pull myself into the room. It looks like a plain bedroom, no pictures, no signs of personalization. I bend down to examine some straps hanging from between the mattress and box spring when I hear a 'thump' from outside. I swing my head around and see Trog, the muscles in his arm flexing as he's pulling his large body through the window, one handed. He climbs to his feet with ease, his breathing calm, not even breaking a sweat. I straighten from my squat and stare up at him, impressed. "That was uh..."

Trog steps closer to me, decreasing the distance between us. "Yeah? You made it look really easy, so..."

I run my tongue along my bottom lip, now close enough to him to realize our breaths are in sync. "There's straps under the bed," I disclose, casually.

"Yeah?" he breathes, his hand resting on my lower back.

The doorbell chimes again, and I growl in frustration, feeling Trog's hand drop back down to his side. "Should probably let them in," I grumble, turning and walking from the bedroom.

"Yeah," Trog agrees, adjusting his pants and following after a moment. 

Heading downstairs into the living room I can see Daisy's silhouette through the curtains of the front window as he tries to pick the lock on the front door. Moving quickly but quietly, I flip the thumb lock and the deadbolt, swinging the door open and causing Daisy to emit a small, high pitched squeak of fear. Liam laughs, pushing Daisy aside and coming into the house. From the kitchen, Trog called out, "Did you just step on a small dog?"

"No," I answer, letting out a short bark of a laugh. "It's just Daisy." Daisy scowls and walks into the house, closing the door behind him. "Where's Woody?" I ask.

"Whacking off in the toolshed or something," Liam replies, grabbing something from a drawer in the kitchen and tossing it in his backpack.

"He found some shit he could use on the truck in there, said he'd keep an eye out for any cars while he's outside," Daisy adds, heading upstairs to raid the bedrooms.

Trog nods appreciatively, opening up a container from the fridge, sniffing it, then placing it back on the shelf. 

After stowing away a few useful items in my bag, I come across the interior door to the storm cellar. The inside door is locked as well, but with the hammer I found in a utility drawer, and my own brute strength, I successfully pry the single sliding lock from the wall. The door is itself is surprisingly sturdy, slamming heavily in the jamb once I enter the stairwell. There's no light above the stairs, so I replace the hammer with a flashlight as I walk down the stairs. I reach the bottom, moving the beam around the ceiling, looking for a light.

_the air smells familiar down here. why do i recognize that smell?_

Cages line the walls as far as the eye can see. Farther even, than seems possible in such a limited space. The beings secured in the cages, all manner of beast, creature and Lost, are offered a clear view of the Pits, so that all may see trials they'll eventually face. The air constantly reeks of blood and filth. It reeks of rot, when a defeated fighter's corpse is dragged back to it's cage simply to lie there. It reeks of gore, when a similar corpse rises with a terror-stricken, gurgling gasp, still covered in bits of their own viscera. It reeks of wild, bloodthirsty animals trapped in an enclosed space...

The flashlight beam sweeps over a weird metal track set in the ceiling near the stairs, I trace the beam over several sets of chains leading from the track to a heavy duty ringbolt in the middle of the room. As my light reflects off the shining chains, one of them moves, the links jangling slightly as it hangs from the ring into the darkness. My hackles go up, and a low growl unconsciously slips from between my clenched jaws. The sound is repeated in a chorus, as I point the flashlight to the other side of the cellar.

The sound of frenzied growling is almost drowned out by the clamor of chains as a half dozen pale, filthy, naked humans struggle to reach me. Several are yanked back by their collars as they reach the limit of the chains holding them in place. Their feet kick at smalls piles of bones, picked clean, scattered on the ground. I feel like I can do nothing other than watch them, my heart pounding in my chest, breathing in the smell of savagery. "Stop," I insist, "I'm not going to hurt you." My words weigh heavy with intensity, and after a moment, their growling tapers to a low murmur, and the creatures fall back, huddling together and warily staring in my direction. I return their gaze until the flashlight beam starts jittering, then I turn and climb the stairs. Propping the heavy cellar door open, I force my voice to remain steady as I call out, "Guys, I need you to come down here."

Gathered in the living room, we discuss what to do regarding the captives in the cellar. 

"I don't see why we have to do anything at all," Liam says, unconcerned. "Not our circus, not our monkeys."

Woody shakes his head. "No, we need to report this to somebody. Call the cops, or something."

In unison, Daisy and I both bark out, "No!"

After his outburst, Daisy continues, "What, we explain that the five of us came across these human slaves while we were burglarizing the house, and figured we'd do the right thing and alert the authorities?" He rolls his eyes. "What was that mister officer? Identification? Well, no, we all just happened to leave ours at home today."

As Daisy rambles, Trog quietly stares out towards the driveway. I stare at the back of his head for a moment, before piping up with, "I'm going to wait for whoever did this to come home, then I'm going to kill them." My words are calm, candid, and Trog turns to look at me after I speak them.

"Fucking... what?" Woody rises from his spot on the couch. "Maze, are you serious?"

_those creatures down there. that would be me if i hadnt gotten free from the pits._

I look to Woody. "Yup. Anyone or anything that does that," I gesture towards the cellar door. "to people, doesn't deserve the air in their fucking lungs." I tap my bat against my palm, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. 

"Jesus," is all Woody replies, before disappearing towards the back of the farmhouse.

Liam stares down at Charlotte crawling across his fingers. "I'll back you up, if you need it."

Shaking his head ruefully, Daisy stands and buttons his sport coat. "Well, c'mon Liam. It's not going to be much of an ambush if everyone is standing in the living room, plain as fucking day." He gestures to Liam and moves further into the house.

I hear the sound of a car pulling into the driveway and my muscles instinctively tense up, ready to spring into action. My mouth fills with saliva as I move to stand out of sight, just behind the front door. Trog gives me a nod before ducking into a side room, but I barely notice him, my senses set on the kill. Soft footsteps approach, and a key slides into the lock. The door swings open slowly, and is only just settling back into the jamb as my arms wrap around the man, pinning his own arms to his sides. I'm vaguely aware that the man is completely nude as I bring my teeth to his throat. "Pig!" I snarl, my breath hot against his skin. I squeeze him between my arms, feeling his bones creak and pop. He makes a low grunting sound, his head turning from side to side to view the other people walking into the room.

"Ew, what the fuck?" Liam grimaces, setting his eyes on the naked man in my arms.

"Maze, I think he's getting more out of this than he should," Daisy comments, pointing down below the man's waist.

Confused, I glance down and see that the man has an erection. "What the fuck!" I exclaim, echoing Liam's words. Unwrapping my arms from around the man, I grab him by the back of the neck, digging my claws in and scruffing him like a misbehaving dog. He's gibbering something as I drag him towards the cellar, the words sounding similar to begging, but I see his erection hasn't been affected by whatever emotion he's feeling so when I open the cellar door, I pitch him down the stairs, pleased by the meaty thump as his naked body hits the cement floor.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I kick the man out of the way as I pull the string for the one overhead bulb. The chained creatures yelp and snap in rage at the sight of their keeper, even more so when I lift him to his feet and begin pushing him towards them. He grabs at me with his soft, harmless fingers, trying to gain purchase as he gets within their reach. Dirty hands with thick, jagged nails grasp toward him, hauling him into their circle. There's a moment where they let him lay there, keening on the ground, before they fall on him, ripping and biting into his pallid flesh.

I watch the creatures feed, my mouth watering. Slowly, carefully, I drop to all fours and creep forward, approaching the mangled body. Several sets of eyes turn to me as I sniff at a chunk of meat, tentatively grasping it between my teeth. The creatures only watch for a moment before turning back to their own meal. I wrench the chunk of meat from bone and swallow it whole, relishing the taste of the flesh as it slips down my throat. I take another bite, then another, growing absorbed in the indulgence of human flesh until I'm suddenly surrounded by hostile growling. I retreat quickly, and only one of the creatures makes an attempt to lunge at me before returning to the nearly picked clean corpse. Contemplating my next step, I attempt to wipe all traces of blood from my face and mouth before turning back towards the stairs. Startled, I see Trog standing there, watching me intently. Swallowing audibly, my mouth tasting of blood, I try to think of something to say. I'm liberated from the task, as we hear Daisy's voice from upstairs. "Someone else just pulled into the driveway."

Trog and I hurry up the stairs. Daisy and Woody are moving towards the back door, and Woody whispers, "Let's get the fuck out of here!" 

Liam stands by the window, peering out behind the curtains. "It's a woman," he mutters, as the sound of heeled shoes stepping on the porch draws closer. 

_anyone who comes here has to know about whats in the cellar. theres no way they dont._

The doorknob turns, and there's a small, irritated sigh as the locked door doesn't budge. A sharp knock cuts through the silence that's fallen in the house. Woody is gesturing for us to leave out the back. Instead, I unhook my bat and prop it on my shoulder, stepping closer to the door. The knock comes again, and Liam reaches out, quietly unlocking the door and pulling it open slightly. A woman's voice, sultry, yet subtly threatening, comes from the porch. "Nathan? Are you playing a little game?" A hand pushes the door open and a woman in a tight black pantsuit enters. Spotting the strangers positioned around the room, her "What?" is quickly cut off as Liam slams to front door shut behind her. Her "Who?" is just as soon interrupted as I cross the space between us in one step and crack my bat against her ribs. She lets out a breathy wheeze that might be an attempt at a scream, and tries to run past me, earning a low strike that breaks something in her shin. The woman falls, weeping and dragging herself towards the stairs.

Woody crosses the room, forcing himself between me and the crawling woman. "Maze, stop! You're going to kill her! You don't even know if she had anything to do with what's downstairs!"

I clench my jaw, turning my attention from the woman to Woody. "Get the fuck out of my way." My hand tightens around the handle of my bat. I can hear the woman sobbing as she tries to climb up to the bedrooms.

Looking to the other guys for support and receiving none, Woody still doesn't back down. "I'm not going to stand by and let you murder an innocent person,"

"An innocent person?!" I practically snarl the words in his face, leering down at Woody, my temper getting the better of me. "Are you a fucking idiot? What, do you think she hangs out here and has no idea what her buddy gets up to in the cellar?"

Unshakable, Woody replies: "So, you killed him and beat the shit out of her. Let's just leave it at that."

Hand still clamped around my bat, I press my fist into Woody's chest and push him back a few inches. My voice is low, dripping with fury. "Back the fuck off, or there really will be an innocent person getting murdered here." I sense movement in the room, likely the other guys finally taking the initiative to intervene. Nevertheless, my attention remains on Woody.

"If you do this, you're no better than they are." Woody's voice doesn't waver, and his eyes don't leave mine.

I press my fist into his chest with more force, pushing him out of my way without another word. The woman has made it up the stairs and almost to the bedroom. She's so focused on what she must think is some sort of escape that she doesn't even hear me come up behind her. With one foot on either side of her body, I lower the bat in front of her face, tapping it on her nose to get her attention. She screams, and screams again when I bring the bat smashing in between her shoulder blades. She keeps screaming, in fact, until the third or fourth time I crack the bat against her skull. I keep hitting until there seems to be nothing but soft parts left, until the bat is continuously striking the spongy, blood soaked carpet under what used to be a body. At some point when I stop, kneeling on the floor and resting my head against the handle of my bat, I hear Liam speak from the hallway. "We're uh, we're headed back to the truck. Just meet us there whenever you're," he pauses. "uh, ready."

Finding a small bathroom on the second floor, I step inside and wipe my bat off on one of the bath towels. Turning the sink on I lather my hands and arms with some floral scented soap that makes me wrinkle my nose, washing the blood from my skin and fur. As I'm rinsing off, I glance up at the mirror and pause.

_i havent actually seen my reflection since i got out. maybe since before then._

My features are sharp, almost masculine. My mouth almost seems too large, set in a scowl, hiding the strong teeth and jaws behind them. My ears are too round, almost hidden in the sandy spotted fur and long mane of dirty blonde dreadlocks behind them. Speckles of blood dot my tanned skin, and I duck my face out of view to splash it with water from the sink. When I leave the bathroom and come down to the main floor, Trog is there waiting. "Hey," is all he says.

I study him for a moment, hooking my bat back onto my belt, before stating, "I want to set them free."

Trog nods, as if expecting my statement. "Ok." He pulls a set of keys from his pocket and holds them out towards me. "These were in his car." 

Approaching him, I take the keys. "Meet me downstairs."

Exiting the house, I head around to the outside cellar entrance. After a few tries, I find the keys that open the locks on the cellar door. Swinging it open, I hear yips and growling and bright light fills the room for the first time in who knows how long. Hopping down the steps, I murmur reassuringly to the creatures, attempting to calm them. Trog is on the other side of the room, and I make my way over to him, giving the group wide berth. I look up at the tracks in the ceiling, at the collars on each creature, then back at Trog. "I won't be able to get close enough to them to unlock their collars."

He reaches up, giving the chains a tentative yank. "If we pull the chains out and toss them the keys, maybe they'll eventually remember?" He looks back at me. "We did."

We both grab hold of the chains, and with a forceful yank, rip them from the concrete supports. The commotion causes the creatures to cry out, moving together in a tight knot. Setting the chains on the ground, I turn to them with the keys held in my palm. "You're free now." I hold my empty palm out as well. Squatting slightly, I slide the set of keys towards the creatures. They hit the foot of one of the men and he gives a started bark. "No more chains. No more cages. You're free," My voice is heavy with insistence, and the creatures look at each other, almost seeming to be silently communicating. One of them bends down and picks up the keys. Another pulls their chain. Pulls again. Keeps pulling until they have the end of it in their hands. They show it to the others with an excited yowl. Several others repeat the process, yowling and shaking the ends of their chains. The creature with the keys jangles them above it's head. The first step is taken towards the open cellar door, then another. The pale creatures blink rapidly in the sunlight, crowding in the doorway. All it takes is one to move past the threshold, and without a single glance back, they run freely into the field, howling shrilly. Howling in elation. 

Trog and I stand watch in the cellar until we can no long hear the creatures. Once it's silent, I walk over to the remains of the man, Nathan, and retrieves a femur bone, picked clean. Slipping it into my backpack, I look over to Trog. "Ready?" As we I walk down the yard, I find myself idly toying with the handle of my bat, already pining away for the feeling of the woman's skull cracking under each swing. My jaw seems to ache in wanting, lamenting the lack of flesh between my teeth. I unconsciously lick my lips as we reach the corn field, my tongue desperately seeking out one more taste of human blood. My body feels licked by fire as each urge is quickly outweighed by another, and I let out a small growl under my breath.

I'm half turning towards Trog, reaching out for him before I combust, but he's already here, his fingers twisting in my hair, his mouth crushed against mine. I rake my claws down his chest, wanting to bite him, and to fuck him, and to hurt him, all at the same time. He must share my desires because he throws me to the ground, wrestling my pants off one handed while I sink my teeth into his shoulder. We roll in the dirt, both fighting for control in a fury of teeth and nails, scaring away the crows better than any straw stuffed dummy ever could.

Some time later we finally head back to the truck, me walking slightly bowlegged and Trog looking like he got in a fight with a woodchipper. He jumps into the truck bed and promptly falls asleep. I climb into the back seat, a small, self-satisfied smirk on my face despite the silent tension surrounding the other passengers in the cab. Woody starts up the engine, Daisy opens up the map, and we continue on our way.


	9. Chapter 9

New York City. Sept of 2000

I'd be able to tell that we were entering the city, even if I had my eyes closed. The stink of car exhaust and pollution starts drifting in through my open window. The stink of too many softies, too many buildings, too many streets. I roll my window up with a scowl and glance around the cab of the truck. Liam has his face practically smashed against the glass, gawking at every landmark as we pass it. Daisy stares out the front windshield, his expression contemplative, and I wonder if he's remembering things from his old life. I roll my eyes, about to turn in my seat to check on Trog in the truck bed when Woody calls our attention to something.

"Something about that billboard over there strikes me as kinda off putting. What do you think, Daisy?" One of Woody's eyes stays locked on the road ahead, the other drifts smoothly to the side, to stare towards the billboard in question.

I look up and see Daisy's face, plastered about a hundred feet off of the ground. The Daisy in the advertisement looks younger, more fit, more human, but is without a doubt the same Daisy sitting in the passenger seat of the truck. 

Spotting the board, Liam starts to ask, "Who's Stanley O-" 

Daisy quickly cuts Liam off. "That's, ah." He pauses. "That's me. That was me." Another pause. "It'd be great if everyone would pretend they didn't see that name."

"Alright," I reply, simply.

With the billboard well behind us, Daisy elaborates slightly. "My fetch must still be in New York, posing as me." He pulls out his notebook, briefly referencing his scrawled handwriting. "This might not be terrible. This could mean I can get all my old contacts back."

"What's a fetch?" Asks Woody, relieving me from the task of having to ask the question myself.

"It's something they leave when they take you into Arcadia. Something to keep living your life while you're gone," Daisy answers.

After a moment of contemplation, I ask, "Does everyone have one?" 

Daisy jots something in his notebook and replies, "No? I don't know, honestly. The more likely you are to be missed by someone, the more likely it is that they'd leave a fetch in place, I guess."

_i cant even remember being human let alone being a human that would be missed by anyone._

Woody pulls the truck off of the highway right into a snarl of traffic. "Jesus christ. Welcome to the fucking city," he comments, revving the engine impatiently. 

I stare out the window at a group of cop cars parked on the shoulder with their lights on. The cops stand around directing traffic and I can't help but wrinkle my nose as one of them turns in the direction of the truck, staring directly into the cab with an analytical expression. After a glance at the unmoving cars in front of us, the officer approaches the truck and knocks on the driver's side window.

For a moment, the four of us just gawk at the window, until Daisy quietly states, "Be cool, we're not doing anything wrong, right guys?"

"Right," Woody agrees, rolling the window down. "Ofternoon, Afficer." He winks, and a collective groan fills the cab. "What can we do for you?"

The officer bends over so that he can see into the truck, receiving three mistrustful glares in return. I catch the name on his badge: Peter O'Rourke. "You all from out of town?"

"Yessir," Woody replies, still wearing an artificial smile.

"Where are you coming from?" The officer asks.

The cab falls silent, until I blurt out, "Kansas," earning an extended look from the cop.

Officer O'Rourke nods. "Well, welcome to New York." He looks to his left, as the cars slowly start moving forward. "You should make sure to stop at Murphy's Deli, in Manhattan. I think you guys have a lot in common with Mr. Murphy." With that ambiguous statement, he taps the roof of the truck and steps away, allowing us to pull forward with the advancing traffic. 

As we pass the cop cars, Liam finally speaks up. "That was fucking weird."

Woody glances over at Daisy, then in the rearview mirror. "So, are we heading to this deli?"

Daisy taps his notepad on his knee, then shrugs. "Sure. We can get something to eat and see what the hell that pig was talking about."

We drive for a few miles, eventually escaping the cluster of traffic for a stretch of street where the cars seem to honk at you if you drive fewer than twenty miles over the speed limit. A motorcycle pulls up next to the truck at a red light, the driver and passenger staring into Woody's side window and revving the engine. Woody doesn't turn to acknowledge the cyclist, but gently taps the gas pedal, revving the engine in response.

"Don't," says Daisy, in the passenger seat.

"Fucking don't," agrees Liam.

Confused, I lean over and look out at the motorcycle next to us. "Huh?"

Both engines rev again as the traffic light turns green, and I'm thrown against Liam's chest as Woody slams his foot on the gas. The truck lurches forward, the motorcycle keeping pace beside us as the cab is filled with the sounds of Daisy and Liam angrily ridiculing Woody. I settle back in my seat, rolling my eyes as Woody cackles. The ridiculing turns to alarm as the two lane street becomes one lane, the lane we're currently occupying blocked by traffic cones and a large pothole. Without hesitation, Woody slips the truck between two parked cars, the entire frame of the vehicle bouncing and shuddering violently as he hops the curb. 

"What the actual fuck?!" I shout over the yells of the other passengers, watching as Woody narrowly misses hitting a homeless man who has to scuttle into an alleyway to avoid the rusted, four wheeled behemoth barreling his way. Seeing a break in the line of parallel parkers, Woody jumps the truck back down the curb, pulling in front of the motorcycle a single block before they both hit a red light. Off the livid expressions of his motley, Woody rolls his window down and shouts over to the motorcyclist, "That was a nice try."

The passenger climbs off the back of the bike, flipping her visor up and approaching the truck. She hands Woody a card and smiles. "Come see us sometime, we'll have a rematch."

Woody takes the card and watches the woman walk back to the bike. Once the light turns green again, the motorcycle turns left and Woody eases the truck through the intersection, only going a few miles over the speed limit. "What?" He asks, in regards to the three sets of eyes glaring holes into his wooden features. Grinning, he asks, "What's wrong?"

Murphy's Deli is an all night diner, sharing a parking lot with a Ramada Inn. Woody pulls the truck into an empty spot and we all climb out, groaning and stretching from the long drive. I immediately go behind the truck to wake Trog. My stomach drops as I look into the truck bed. 

_what the fuck._

I vault over the hatch and lift up the foam mats. I push the sleeping bags out of the way as if they could somehow obscure my view of a seven foot tall ogre. The truck bed is empty. Trog isn't there. I lift my head, my voice thankfully sounding more angry than worried. "Trog isn't here."

"Huh," says Woody. "Where the fuck is he?" He, Daisy and Liam approach the truck bed and look inside.

"I don't know," I snap. "Not fucking here, obviously." Standing in the bed, I look around the parking lot before turning my ire back on Woody. "How do you lose an entire fucking person?!"

Woody's expression is rife with disbelief. "Wait, you're blaming this on me? How is this my fault?"

I leap down from the bed of the truck, yelling in Woody's face. "YOU DRIVE LIKE A FUCKING DICKHOLE!"

Liam is grabbing my arm, halfheartedly pulling me away from Woody when a booming, Irish accented voice calls across the lot, "Oi, you keds better naht be startin' a fight in my parkin' laht. All fooehr o' you would be seein' my bad side if you ded." The voice comes from a heavyset, strong looking changeling dressed in a cook's apron. His face is wide, his teeth all appearing flat and square. He throws his hands in the air. "Ahr you goin' to stand thar and stare all night, or ahr are you goin' to come in?"

I pull my arm out of Liam's grasp and begin walking towards the deli. As I approach, the man pulls the door open for me. "Hi," I state, ducking under his arm. "I'm Maze." He nods in greeting. 

The guys follow suit, introducing themselves as they pass by the large man. Once in the diner, he directs us to take a seat at a booth near the kitchen. There's not many patrons inside, the closest being a pair of police officers that he shoos to a further away booth as he sets menus at our table. "Good to meet all o' you, I'm Murphy. I take it Pete sent you my way?"

"Yeah," I answer. "How did he know, you know," Murphy looks at me strangely. I look around the table for one of the guys to follow up, but all I get is blank looks. "He's just a human, right? How did he know what we are?"

"Ah," Murphy says. "He's ensourceled. He c'n see behind our masks."

"Ooh," I answer, trying not to look as confused as I feel.

"We've only been out for a few days," Daisy explains, hungrily studying his menu. "Still a lot of stuff we're catching up on."

"Understandable." Murphy looks at me. "Ded I 'ear someone say that one o' you has gahne messin'?"

I glare angrily around the table. "Yeah. My friend Trog was riding in the truck bed and must have fallen out because of SOMEone's-"

Murphy cuts me off. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. It's a beg city, but there's a few o' us around. Your friend'll show ahp."

"How hard do you think it's going to be to find a giant, one armed troll, anyway?" Liam puts his menu down and looks to Murphy. "Do you have chocolate milk here?"

Woody points to Liam, "Good question," then to Murphy. "Better question, do you have bourbon here?"

We all order and Murphy makes our food. While we're eating, he fills us in on who and where the monarch and former monarchs are. Daisy and Woody are both pleased to find out that Murphy himself is the former Spring king. He offers us a free room at the hotel next door and refuses Woody's attempt to pay for the meal. As he talks, I get a terrible feeling of deja vu, and catch myself nervously looking to the door between bites of steak, perhaps waiting for Godwin or Elekite to come in and start blasting away. The scars on my stomach and side twinge slightly and I push the rest of my food away, waiting for the others to finish eating. The diner is filling up, and Murphy disappears into the kitchen. 

Daisy studies Roots' map for a moment, holding it away from the table that's still covered in the remnants of dinner. "Let's see. We can hit Queens first, meet the Autumn king," he nods towards Liam, who's blowing bubbles in his chocolate milk. "Murphy said most of the Summer court work at an auto shop in Brooklyn, and the former Winter queen has a nightclub in the Bronx." He folds the map and stows it in his briefcase. "An ideal way to end the night, really." 

Liam and I grimace but Woody nods in agreement. Finishing off his bourbon and milk, he pulls his keys from his pocket. "Let's get rolling, then."

"Should you be drinking and driving?" Liam asks, rising from the booth.

Woody grins, as we all shuffle out of the diner, calling our goodbyes to Murphy. "It's not drinking and driving if you drink /before/ you drive."

I roll my eyes, casting a concerned glance into the Trog-less truck bed.

_he better be ok. it was nice having someone else around thats like me. that likes me._

The Autumn king runs some sort of a tourist attraction in a closed down prison. When we get there, the heavily barred doors are locked, the interior is dark and the hours of operation show that the building is closed. However, after standing in front of the door for a moment, discussing what to do, there's a harsh buzzing sound, and the door unlocks. 

Daisy stares at the now-unlocked door. "Nope. Don't like that."

Liam moves him out of the way and opens the door, walking inside the building. I follow right behind him, and Daisy and Woody grudgingly trail in afterward. We hear the door lock again once it closes, and the interior remains only dimly lit as we step into the vestibule. There's a small table with refreshments near the customer service desk. All the snacks and drinks seem to have strange foreign labels, or are unappealing off brands. 

"Uh," starts Woody, his voice echoing out over the high ceilings. "This is kind of weird."

The hallways and stairwells are blocked off by pull across security fences, and I walk over to one and shake it gently, staring down the dark hall. "No fucking kidding," I reply over my shoulder. When I turn back to the fence, a man materializes from the shadows. "Jesus fuck!" I shout, startling the others as I jump away from the gate.

The man laughs, sticking a key into the side of the gate and pushing it aside. He somehow seems to blend in with the shadows, even once he's under the dim lights. The outline of his form simply melds seamlessly into darkness. "Apologies, I didn't mean to scare you," he says, the tone of his voice clearly stating otherwise. 

Liam steps forward. "Are you Tyler?"

The man smiles. "Lord Tyler, yes. I see that you're also a member of the Leaden Mirror." He walks forward, taking Liam's hand, seeming pleased as Liam grows visibly uncomfortable. 

"Is this like a haunted house thing you've got going on here?" Woody asks.

"Something like that," Lord Tyler responds. "People come here seeking to be frightened, and I don't let them leave until they are," he states, ominously.

Daisy and I share a look, as Daisy states, "We were just making our rounds, meeting the court leaders since we're new in town."

Still gripping Liam's hand, Lord Tyler says, "That's wonderful. I have no use for undeclared or courtless Lost in my city."

I approach Liam and Lord Tyler, carefully pulling Liam out of the king's grasp. "We actually have a lot more people to meet, so, we should get on that."

Liam gives me a look of gratitude. "Right. Thank you for taking time to meet us, Lord Tyler." The two of us start moving towards the door, Daisy and Woody catching the hint and following along gratefully.

"Thank you, Liam and friends, for making the current monarch your first stop upon arrival in my city." Lord Tyler stands in the vestibule, simply watching us huddled against the door. 

Daisy pushes the bar to open the door, and we all knock into each other as the door remains locked.

"Could you unlock the-" I turn back towards the interior of the building and Lord Tyler is gone. Daisy, Liam, Woody and I exchange a look, before Daisy starts frantically pushing the bar to open the door. After a moment, something in the door clangs loudly and we're finally spilled out onto the sidewalk.

"Nope. Nope." Daisy speedwalks to the truck, ripping the door open and flinging himself inside. Once we're all in and Woody pulls away from the prison, Daisy continues, "What the fuck is wrong with Autumn kings? Why are they all so fucking creepy? Jesus christ."

Liam nervously stares at Charlotte as she crawls her way from his wrist to his elbow, mumbling something quietly. 

"What?" I ask.

"How did he know my name?" He looks up at me. "I didn't tell him my name."

"See," Daisy bellows. "fucking creepy!"

Daisy continues his tirade about Autumn kings until we get to Brooklyn. We quickly reach an auto parts store called Throttle & Clutch, and are immediately greeted by an attractive, metal-fleshed man with the worst case of customer service voice ever. He zips back and forth on his wheeled feet, a tray full of little plastic glasses of liquid in one hand. Pinned on his shoulder is a nametag that reads: Chad. 

Woody approaches the man, reaching for a plastic cup. "Nice, are you handing out shots?"

The man, Chad, pulls the tray away. "No," he says with a toothy smile. "This is actually-"

I grab a cup from the tray and sniff it. "Smells weird." I'm tilting the cup to my lips when Chad snatches it away and replaces it on the tray.

"Please don't drink that, ma'am." Chad's smile and tone are ridiculously pleasant. "These are samples of our new high octane motor oil! It's fully synthetic, which keeps the price affordable-" he winks, "-but works just as well as conventional oil!"

No shit, really?" asks Woody, seemingly legitimately interested. 

Chad continues to hype up his motor oil to Woody, as Daisy, Liam and I enter the store. A short, wide man that somewhat resembles a gorilla sits at the cash register, staring at a catalog. "Hello..." he starts. "Welcome to... the store." He looks up from the catalogue, taking a moment to process what he sees. "...oh."

"This is all you," Liam mumbles, passing behind me and disappearing down one of the aisles. Daisy also wanders off, lost in thought.

I sigh and walk up to the counter. "Hey. I'm Maze." The man stares at me for long enough to make me wonder if he somehow fell asleep with his eyes open, so I follow up with, "I'm Summer court. Murphy said I should come meet you."

"Oh..." the man says, again. "I'm... Larry." He speaks with a maddeningly slow pace. "Murphy. He's... a... good guy." Larry stares blankly at me. "Did you... meet..." a long pause. "... the king?"

"Lord Tyler? Yup. Just before we got here." I find myself rushing my words, hoping that somehow it will inspire him to speak faster himself. "We just got to New York, and I wanted to make sure you know who I am, in case you need me for anything." I pause, and Larry stares. "Or anything."

The door opens and glancing over Larry says, "Welcome to..." before realizing it's Chad leading Woody inside and towards the motor oil section. "Have... you... met Chad?" He slowly turns back to me.

"Yup!" I reply, through gritted teeth, my eyes widening as I stare down at Larry.

He glances over towards a woman straightening one of the aisles. Her skin looks like magma, in liquid, glowing shades of reddish orange that slowly undulate as she moves. Daisy is in the aisle next to hers, awkwardly staring, his mouth hanging open just slightly. Larry moves his attention to Daisy, his expression /almost/ suspicious as he asks, "Have you... met Tanya?"

Jumping at the chance to exit the conversation, I reply, "No, I haven't. I should go do that now."

Walking away I hear Larry say, "If you need anything... let me know."

As I pass by Daisy, I give him a weird look that he doesn't notice. "Hey," I say as I approach Tanya.

"Oh, hi. Did you need help finding something?" Her tone is pleasant. Professional, but not painfully so, like Chad.

I sigh in relief. "I needed help getting out of that floundering ass conversation with Larry, and you've already done that. I think I'm all set, now."

Tanya laughs, her voice becoming more comfortable. "Yeah, it takes a lot to deal with him, sometimes." She places an item on the shelf in front of her. "There's definitely worse bosses to have, but most days it's enough to need a stiff drink after your shift. Or during."

I groan. "Pretty sure that's where we're headed after this. Some club that the former Winter queen runs."

"You must be talking about Ill, I go there sometimes," Tanya comments as she watches Chad speed into a back room. "I'm supposed to close tonight, but if you give me a couple of minutes I can get out of it and take you guys there. The bouncers can be dicks about letting new people in, anyway."

Looking dubiously over at Larry, who's returned to his catalogue, I reply, "A couple minutes? Did you mean a couple hours?"

Laughing again, Tanya states: "I've got a few tricks that I save for special occasions." She glances over at Daisy from the corner of her eye. "Uh, is your friend ok? He's kind of been staring at me like that for awhile."

I chuck a box of air filters across the aisle at Daisy, hitting him in the forehead. "Ow, what the fuck?" He rubs the resulting red mark.

"Quit being a fucking creep," I say, as Tanya walks into the back room. Casually moving to another aisle, I pretend to be looking at air fresheners as I watch Tanya small, magma covered form morph into a doppelganger for Larry. She lumbers up to Chad as he's digging through a box of overstock, even managing to duplicate his infuriatingly slow speech. After a few dragging minutes she leaves Chad to finish in the back, changing to her normal appearance before returning to the sales floor. "That was pretty cool," I compliment.

"Thanks," she chirps. "Chad's working a double tonight, on Larry's request. He's such a gentleman."

Peering back into the backroom, I raise an eyebrow. "Wonder what he's like in bed?"

"Eh," Tanya replies. "Nothing to write home about." She pulls her nametag off and starts walking towards the door. "I'm going to go home and change, then I'll meet you guys there?"

Spotting Woody struggling to cash out with Larry, I respond: "Sure." Liam and Daisy are impatiently standing by the truck, Daisy still having a slightly dazed expression on his face. I jab my finger into his side. "She'll be at the club we're going to."

Daisy rubs his side, wincing. "Huh? Oh. That woman? That's cool, I guess." He doesn't even look in Tanya's direction.

Liam looks at me, mouthing, "what the fuck?"

I shrug, opening the tailgate of the truck and hopping up on it. Leaning back, cushioning my head under my hands, I stare up a a sky too polluted by electric lights to see any stars. "You guys might as well get comfortable, it'll be at least another half hour before Larry's even finished telling Woody the total." 

_i hope trog is ok where ever he is. god i hope hes fucking safe._

We pull up to what looks like an abandoned 711, the sign flipped upside down and reflected onto the glass to look like the word 'IIL'. Exiting the car, I give the building a skeptical look. "Do nightclubs usually look like boarded up convenience stores?" I ask as we stand on the sidewalk.

"Nightclubs, no. Drug fronts, though..." Daisy trails off as another car pulls up. 

Tanya climbs out of the driver's seat, wearing a low cut red dress and eyeing the group before gesturing for us to follow her around the side of the building. "It's cool, there's no dress code or anything." A door marked: Emergency Exit is partially hidden by a dumpster full of cardboard. Tanya pulls the door open and waves us inside. 

The interior still has all the fixtures and aisles set up, barren of the overpriced snacks and stomach acid inducing hot food. A shirtless, dark skinned human stands behind the counter, greeting Tanya with familiarity. A fuzzy collar around his neck spells out the name: Tyrese. "You brought fresh meat?" He gives each of us a once over. "Let's see. Two bottoms," he points to Daisy and Woody. "a switch," he points to Liam, "and a Domme." he points at me.

I glance down at my cargo pants and muscle shirt, confused. "A fucking what?" 

"Power bottom, for your information." Daisy says, with a laugh.

Tyrese grins, then looks towards the guys. "Cover is free for ladies, ten each for ya'll." Daisy and Liam look expectantly towards Woody, who pulls three bills from his wallet and hands them to Tyrese. "Head on downstairs, have fun, don't forget to use your safewords." He hands Tanya and I some paper tickets with a wink. "Drink tickets, social lubrication."

We make our way downstairs, the sound of throbbing bass growing louder as we approach a heavy metal door. Reaching the bottom, the door swings open and we're hit with a wave of deafening music. The air reeks of sex, sweat and liquor, and I visibly recoil from the odor of so many humans packed in a small area. When the door closes behind us, my eyes struggle to adjust to the dimness, the only light coming from deep red bulbs that cast the interior in a crimson glow. Tanya quickly abandons us, greeting a group of people standing by what looks like a set of manacles that hang from the ceiling. Similar hardware is placed in various areas around the club, along with a wooden sawhorse, stocks, and something that looks like a giant, wooden X with leather handcuffs attached to the ends. Unmoving from my spot in the doorway, I absorb all of this with barely contained disgust.

"What the fuuuuck," Liam comments in my ear.

"Agreed," I state.

Daisy on the other hand, has an expression similar to a kid in a candy store, as he takes in the sight of what is likely several of his favorite vices in one small area. "Drinks? Anyone? We should be drinking right now."

"Agreed," states Woody. I toss my drink tickets at them, still refusing to move any further into the club.

Eventually the door swings open to allow in more patrons, knocking into Liam and I as we skulk. I point to an empty corner near the wooden X, and the two of stalk across the dance floor, somehow drawing admiring stares from humans in various states of undress. We're almost safely in our new spot when a balding, groveling man, dressed in only briefs, steps in front of me. He's practically trembling as he asks, "Mistress, please, would you allow me to be your slave for the night?" 

I look at Liam, revolted, before looking back at the man. My hand, by habit, falls to my bat. "Gross. Get the fuck away from me." The man makes a sound that's far too euphoric for my liking, but thankfully skitters away with a confusingly blissful look on his face once I snarl at him. I dash to the corner, facing the wall and shuddering. "Fucking hell," I exclaim as Liam settles in next to me. "What the fuck is wrong with these people?" I turn and bitterly stare out into the crowd.

Liam shrugs. "No idea." Pointing out Daisy and Woody downing shots, he continues, "They seem to be enjoying themselves."

"Guess we're stuck babysitting," I grumble, crossing my arms and showing my teeth at another human that seems to be drawing too close.

  
A few hours, and several games of Rock, Paper, Scissors pass. Liam and I continue to stand in our corner, both of us wearing scowls that threaten to stay permanently etched on our faces. A drunken Daisy and Woody come stumbling within our reach, and each of us grab ourselves an intoxicated Spring courtier. 

"Can we fucking go?" Liam grouses, holding Woody at an arm's length.

"Pfft," Daisy's attempts to shrug his jacket off to escape my grasp, then seems to realize he's no longer wearing one. His shirt gapes open and he laughs. "Oops. Anyway, we can't leave yet. I haven't even... I wanted to, uh," he looks around the room. "I want to try the St. Andrew's cross!" He gestures to the X shaped contraption, that currently holds a figure swathed in black leather, with something similar to a falconer's hood zippered over their head. 

I stare over at the figure for a moment. "Ew." The figure struggles slightly, the fabric of the hood pulling into towards their face as they breathe. "Plus, I'm pretty sure that guy is currently like, asphyxiating or something."

Liam laughs. Woody turns to look at the figure, his eyes glazed, but his expression concerned. "That guy actually /does/ look like he's having trouble breathing." He calls over to a shirtless man with oiled muscles and various whips and paddles hanging from his belt. "Hey! Hey you! This guy can't breathe!" The oiled up body builder gives Woody the smallest of glances, before turning his attention back to a woman in pigtails and a plaid skirt. "What the fuck," Woody replies, pulling away from Liam. "Well, I'm not about to let somebody suffocate right in front of me." 

As Woody approaches the figure on the cross, Daisy comments, "No, let them pass out, then I can get to my turn quicker."

Rolling my eyes, I release Daisy and lean back against the wall, committing to at least another hour or two in the club. Daisy starts moving in a semi-rhythmic manner that might be considered dancing, and Liam sighs. The shackled figure seems to be gasping even more desperately for breath as Woody steps onto the small stage holding the cross. He studies the hood for a moment, before slipping his hand behind the figure's head and grasping a zipper at the base of their neck. Carefully, as to not pinch any skin, Woody pulls the zipper up and forward. The leather hood slides off, revealing a smoothly scaled head. Golden, reptilian eyes dart from Woody, to the rest of us standing against the wall. Dropping the hood on the ground, Woody takes a step back. 

Curling my fingers around my bat, I take a step forward, growling through my teeth at the tethered lizard before me.

 _elekite_.


	10. Chapter 10

New York City. Sept of 2000.

My bat cocked on my shoulder, I'm suddenly unaware of the club full of degenerates around me. The unrelentingly pounding bass fades away. All I can focus on is Elekite. Elekite, blowing a hole through Gerald's chest. Elekite turning the shotgun on me, seconds before my gut feels like it's on fire. Elekite, in the Pits, his fangs in my throat...

I'm about to swing when someone grabs my wrist. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You didn't pay for that!" Snarling, I turn and stare down at the shirtless man with his belt full of paddles. Undaunted, he steps between me and Elekite. "No touching the merchandise until it's rightfully bought and paid for."

Liam's at my side in a flash. "We're not buying him, we're going to fucking kill him."

The man chuckles. "Sure, man. Roleplay isn't redlisted. Whatever gets you hard." 

Behind him, Elekite hangs prone, silently watching the exchange. "You need to move out of the fucking way," I growl at the man.

Daisy steps in, clearing his throat. "You said this ah, man over here is for sale?" 

The shirtless man looks at Daisy. "Yeah, said that like, fucking twice."

"For how much?" Daisy asks.

The man takes a small spiral notebook from his pocket and flips through it. After a moment, he replies. "Five hundred."

After he answers, Liam shouts an expletive and attempts to shoulder past the man. The man forces Liam back and I push him from the other side, knocking him on his ass. Climbing to his feet, the man raises his fist and Liam immediately parries it aside with his own.

The shirtless man tries to swing again, when a cool, clear voice says, "Stop." 

The man immediately ceases fighting, even when Liam lands a sucker punch to his ear. In a soft, groveling tone, he says, "Sorry, Madame Marquise."

Woody stands with a pale eyed, pale skinned changeling. The air around her holds a chill that carries to her voice as she says, "Chester, you're dismissed for the night."

"Yes, Madame Marquise." Chester scurries away, quickly swallowed by the remarkably oblivious crowd.

With a glance towards the bound lizard, Woody comments, "Thought it'd be best to grab the Winter queen before any of us started a slaughter in the middle of her club."

"A good decision," replies the Marquise. "Shall we move this conversation to a private room?" Without waiting for a reply, she approaches the wooden cross. I almost want to shout a warning as she unclips Elekite's ankle and wrist cuffs from their anchors, however, the reptilian beast simply lowers his head, shuffling his chained legs after her as she leads him behind a curtained area.

  
"Woody tells me this man has been hunting you." The Marquise connects the last cuff to its adjacent ring bolt, tapping her pointed, black nails on the wooden table and staring down at Elekite. 

"He has been. Him and another loyalist, they followed us after we escaped," Daisy starts.

"They killed the first people to help us," Liam adds.

I simply stare at Elekite, my blood boiling, wanting nothing more than to break his bones, to rip his flesh to pieces, to chew through his insides.

_he killed my friends. him and godwin will keep trying to kill us. we need to kill him now!_

"This club, /my/ club, is neutral grounds. I won't allow anyone to be harmed within its walls." She smiles a cold smile. "Without their consent, of course." 

"What does that mean for us?" I growl out through gritted teeth.

The Marquise looks over at me. "You can question him, glean information from him, but you will not kill him in my club. He will leave this club alive." She glances at the rest of the group. "I will watch over the interrogation from another room to guarantee you follow my rules." 

Liam sucks his teeth, his expression disgusted. "Well, what if he attacks us?"

"If the bound, unarmed man manages to successfully attack all four of you," the Marquise stares at Liam for a moment. "then you are free to defend yourselves." With that statement, she walks from the room, leaving a cold breeze in her wake.

  
For a few minutes, the four of us merely stand there. Staring at each other, staring at Elekite, none of us knowing how or where to start. Woody breaks the silence first, spitting out, "Did you follow us here?"

Elekite blinks, astounding calm as he replies, simply, "No."

Woody scoffs, leaning down, kicking the table. "Oh yeah, you fucking liar? What the hell are you doing here, then?"

The cuffs on his wrists jangle as Elekite stretches his arms slightly. I swear I can almost see a ghost of a smile on his face as he replies, "I enjoy pain."

"What?" Woody stares at Elekite's face, the restraints, then down to his waist. "Oh, fucking gross!" He jumps away from the table, gagging. "That's fucking gross!"

Daisy keeps his distance, asking, "Where's Godwin?"

"He's somewhere else," is all Elekite says.

"Yeah?" Liam crosses his arms, visibly irate. "He let you off your leash for playtime?" 

_off his leash._

Something about Liam's comment makes my stomach drop. I try to ignore the feeling as I stare over at Elekite. "Why do you keep trying to kill us?" Elekite turns to face me, but doesn't answer. He doesn't try to struggle out of the restraints on his wrists and ankles. He doesn't try to get free, at all. I hear one of the guys saying something, but I keep staring back at Elekite. I drop my gaze slightly, to the collar on his neck.

_off his leash._

  
A large board hangs over the Pits, covered in names of all the fighters. As winners win and losers lose, names are moved up or down, or taken off entirely. Three names continuously remain at the top. Trog, Maze and Elekite. Then, just two. Then, just one. The fight is over. I'm recovering in my cage, but they still haven't put Elekite back. A man with wild hair and dark coveralls comes down to the Pits. He talks to Elekite for a minute. Elekite looks confused, glancing up towards the cages as the man pulls something from his pocket. I see the man's face. It's Godwin, fastening a collar around Elekite's neck. Clipping a leash onto the collar and starting to walk out of the pit. Elekite doesn't follow right away, so Godwin yanks at the leash, urging his new pet to obey. I watch as they leave the Pits.

  
_the next time i saw elekite it was though a hole in geralds chest. but that collar. oh god. hes still wearing it. hes still a slave. jesus christ hes still godwins slave._

Someone else is talking when I blurt out, "What if we keep you?" I can feel everyone's eyes on me as I continue. "What would they do if you just don't return to them?"

Elekite once more turns his gaze on me. "Then," he starts. "that would just be one more thing he'd want back."

"They'd probably just sent another fucking lackey to hunt us down in his place," Liam responds, shooting me a strange look.

"Fuck," exclaims Daisy, rubbing his face. "this fucking... this just gives us even more questions."

"Yeah well, maybe fuckface here will remember that we're leaving him alive, rather than dragging him into an alley and beating him to death with his own spine," Woody says. "Maybe he'll remember that next time he has his fucking shotgun on him."

"Should we uncuff him or something?" Daisy asks.

"Fuck him," responds Liam, walking towards the door. "hopefully the Marquise forgets he's back here and he fucking starves to death."

Daisy follows Liam out, citing, "I need another drink."

"Couldn't agree more." Woody joins him.

  
The room is quiet, save for Elekite's even breathing and my own accelerating respiration. I approach the table his body is tethered to, staring down into maddeningly impassive face. "I should kill you," I state, with far too much emotion in my voice. "You killed my friends."

"I did," Elekite states.

"You're not going to stop. You're going to keep hunting us, and killing people I care about." My lip raises, baring my teeth as I repeat, "I should kill you."

"You should," Elekite agrees. Beneath his collar, the steady beat of his pulse increases in pace.

"You /can't/ stop." I twist my fingers under the collar, yanking it tight, lifting him off the table slightly. "Because of this." He gasps in a breath through his constricted airway, pulling lightly at his restraints. I release my grasp on his collar and let him drop onto the table, his head bouncing against the wood. 

"You killed Gerald!" I roar, swiping my claws across Elekite's face. "You killed the Spring queen!" I strike his other cheek, splattering the table with blood. Elekite groans quietly, now fully wrestling against his restraints. I lift the bottom of my shirt with one hand, grabbing his bleeding face with the other and forcing him to look at the twisted wounds still marking my torso. "You tried to kill me," I move my hand from his face to his throat, pressing my claws into the sides of his jugular veins. "I should kill you," 

I growl the last words into his ear, as Elekite struggles against my hand. His body pull taut against the table, he fruitlessly attempts to thrust his hips in the air, to gain some sort of alleviation for the erection that strains against the seams of his tight leather pants. He stares up at me in agony, speaking one word in a pitiful, desperate plea, "Please."

Before I can think too much, I'm unbuttoning my pants and shaking them off. Before I can take a moment to consider what I'm doing, I climbing on to the table and straddling Elekite between my legs. Before I can contemplate my actions, I'm kissing him, tasting the venom in his mouth as I kick and shimmy his pants below his waist. Before I can realize that what I'm doing is fucking crazy, I'm impaling myself onto his hardness, marking his scaled chest with my claws, hurting him, giving him the relief he needs. Giving myself the relief I need.

_one of the kinds of relief i need._

  
After I put my clothes back on, I uncuff Elekite from the table. I half expect to feel the punch of a gunshot or the rip of claws in my back as I walk away. I leave the room knowing that next time I see the lizard, it will be as enemies. 

_it doesnt have to be like this. he doesnt have to go back. he could stay with us and we could fight against godwin together. we could fight against anyone the keeper sends against us._

My stomach churns and I find myself hating Elekite. Hating him for being a coward and hating myself for being weak enough to pity him. I come back into the main club and find Liam, still glowering. Daisy and Woody are on the dance floor with a group of people in anthropomorphic animal costumes. Liam looks over at me. "Where have you been?"

"Outside," I answer casually. "Shit was getting to me."

_shit is still getting to me. fuck i wish trog were here. hed get it. hed understand._

Liam peers at me suspiciously for a moment longer, but doesn't question me any further. A few minutes later the music is cut off and suddenly, abruptly, the house lights come on, filling the club with the brilliant glare of fluorescents. "Shit," Liam covers his eyes, wincing.

People on the dance floor mumble and lament, but many of them seem to shrink in on themselves, suddenly shamed at their skimpy clothing and lewd behavior shown in such stark lighting. Patrons begin quickly gathering coats and belongings with embarrassed and desolate expressions on their faces. Daisy and Woody seem alarmed at the amount of costumed creatures surrounding them, and quickly make their way over to us. I catch my own reflection in one of the mirrors, irritated to see a similar expression on my own face as seen on the people shuffling out of the club. Wiping a stray smear of Elekite's blood from my upper lip, I catch sight of the Marquise, clearly feeding off the negative energy from the regretful humans. I'm about to mention her clever harvesting method to the guys when the Marquise catches my eye and gives me a knowing smirk.

_oh fuck. she was watching that whole fucking time._

I grab Daisy and Woody by the elbows and practically drag them up the stairs. "C'mon, let's get the fuck out of here."

  
As Daisy and Woody quickly pass out in the beds of our complimentary hotel room, Liam pulls out the sofabed and offers it to me. "You can have it," I respond. "I'm probably going to head down to Murphy's for a bit. I'm not really tired yet, anyway." Liam shrugs and rolls onto the bed, kicking his shoes off.

Murphy's Deli is somewhat busy, full of drunken diners trying to sober up and off duty cops. Sitting at a stool at the counter as far from the cops as possible, I dig in my backpack and pull out a leather-bound journal that I forgot I stole back in Vermont. I stare down at it with a frown and wait for Murphy to finish taking a table's order. Finally, Murphy lumbers over to the counter, giving me a warm smile. "Good evenin', Maze. Where's the rest o' your crew?"

"Sleeping their way into a hell of a hangover, probably." I give a short, bark of a laugh. "Except for Liam, he's just regular sleeping."

Murphy laughs. "Well, what can I get yeh tonight?"

I look down at my journal. "Um, do you have a pen?" Murphy hands me one from his apron. "Thanks. Do you mind if I hang around down here for a little bit? I can leave if it starts getting busy."

"I don't mend at ahl," Murphy replies. "But if you're settin' in here, I'm feedin' yeh."

Making a face, I grudgingly state, "You're the boss, I guess. Just give me something meaty." I shrug. "I trust your judgement."

Patting me on my back as he heads back to the kitchen, Murphy chuckles and calls over his shoulder, "I wouldn't recommend doin' somethin' like that."

I write a good bit in my journal, unconsciously keeping track of things in case I ever get taken and lose my memory again. Murphy comes over and talks to me whenever he's not busy. He tells me a little bit about happenings in the Freehold. He talks to me about how things were when he first got out of Arcadia. He never seems uncomfortable with the fact that I don't disclose much about my own situation. Eventually I get my brain to shut the fuck up enough to head back up to the hotel room. I grab the extra blankets and pillow from the closet and plop them on the floor next to the couch. Laying down, I curl up around my backpack, wishing Trog or really any other affectionate body were near. Listening to the triple cacophony of my motley's snores, I finally fall asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

New York City. Sept of 2000.

Water drips steadily from somewhere just out of sight. I can hear the soft shuffle of footsteps on stone and a confused, but familiar mumble. Staring into the dark, in the direction of the voice, I quietly call out, "Daisy?"

"Maze? Daisy? Are you guys over there?" Liam's voice comes from the opposite direction, echoing eerily.

I'm squinting in the other direction, when I hear Woody's voice say: "What the hell is going on? It sounds like you guys are right nearby, but there's just a tunnel here." Once he speaks the words, the shape of the tunnel grows clearer, as if defined by Woody's declaration. 

The guys hushed voices continue to bounce along the curved walls, and I begin slowly moving forward, keeping one hand on the wall and my eyes ahead of me. After walking what only feels like a few feet, I catch a new sound hidden under the dripping water and Daisy, Liam and Woody's voices. Tilting my head towards the sound, I hold my breath, waiting to hear it again. There's a slow, careful inhale. An intake of air specifically meant for catching a scent. 

_were being hunted._

"Shh," I whisper, and the guys fall silent. This time, the inhale of breath is followed by a low, reptilian hiss. I respond to the sound with a snarl, barking: "Go!" in what I hope is the direction of Daisy, Liam and Woody. Holding my ground, my hackles raise as the air grows heavy with static. I hear the stomp of Godwin's boots and the sweep of Elekite's tail against the stone floor as they draw closer. Hoping that the guys have a far enough head start, I turn and start running. Panting with exertion, I'm almost convinced I can feel Elekite's breath on the back of my neck when my foot catches a piece of loose rock. My body pitches forward, and I brace for the fall, but instead of slamming into hard stone, I land on damp grass and dirt. All sounds of pursuit are gone, replaced by the sounds of peepfrogs and a distantly hooting owl.

_im back in vermont. these are the woods we parked at right after we ran into godwin and elekite. this is where i found trog._

Elekite's scent still remains in the air, but faint and fading quickly. I take a few steps, catching sight of odd markings in the dirt. Footprints, with a waving line drawn between them.

_these are elekites tracks. he was here. he was here hunting for us._

"What-" Water pours into my mouth and I sputter, throwing my hands up to block the spray. "What the fuck?" I'm laying in the bathtub, the showerhead spraying tepid water down on me. The air smells like artificial flowers.

Liam leans over the tub, moving the showerhead slightly. "We couldn't get you to wake up, so we put you in the bathtub."

Looking down at myself, I'm covered in soapsuds. I gather a handful and sniff them, wrinkling my nose as I pinpoint the cause of the artificial floral odor. "You threw me in the bathtub and squirted soap on me to wake me up?"

Daisy laughs from the other room and Woody, leaning against the door frame, at least has the decency to look apologetic. Liam, on the other hand, simply shrugs. "You haven't taken a shower since we've gotten out, you fucking stink."

Scowling, I push Liam towards the door, knocking him into Woody. "Sorry if I had better priorities," I growl, peeling my wet clothes off and tossing them on the floor. Yanking the shower curtain closed, I begin washing the soapsuds out of my fur as I ask: "When did you guys wake up?"

From the doorway, Liam answers, "I woke up right after we heard Reptile and Raiden coming after us."

"Huh?" I respond, grudging kneading shampoo into my dreads.

I hear Daisy's voice as he comes into the bathroom. "I woke up a little bit after you told us to run, and Woody was right behind me." He turns on the sink, and the water in the shower immediately goes cold. "We thought you'd wake up too, but you were out for what," a pause. "another ten minutes, at least."

Rinsing my hair, I respond: "I ran for awhile, and then I tripped." I turn the water off and pull the shower curtain open, reaching for a towel. "What the fuck, they're all fucking wet." I look to Liam and Daisy, who shrug innocently. Snatching a damp towel from the rack, I begin to dry off as I continue, "I ended up back in that hundred acre woods place, in Vermont." Glowering unhappily at the pile of my wet clothes, I wrap the towel around myself and push past Liam and Daisy to exit the bathroom. Woody sits out on the couch, politely trying to avoid looking at my scantily clad form. Digging through my backpack, I retrieve my only other pair of pants and a shirt and begin to dress. "I think that maybe it was a message - god damn Woody, chill out, they're just tits - from Elekite."

Liam walks into the room, looking skeptical. "How do you figure that?"

_how DO i figure that? what if it was just a coincidence? what if it was a trick?_

"I think he was telling me," I pull my shirt over my head. "telling /us/ that that's where they are. That they're still on our trail."

His tone contemplative, Woody responds: "That's not too far of a reach. We did let him walk out of there scot-fucking-free."

"Or maybe it's his way of trying to get us to let our guard down," Liam retorts.

"Then we don't. We don't let our guard down ever," I snap.

Daisy steps out of the bathroom, smoothing the white flower petals over his scalp. "That's a great idea," he responds, with an inflection that suggests that he has no idea the topic at hand. He looks over at Woody. "I need to take a trip over to Lincoln Park."

Puzzled by the sudden subject shift, Woody responds: "Sure," a pause. "Where are we going?"

"Ah," Daisy looks around at our expectant expressions. "The law offices of Stanley O'Kirk." He says the last two words barely above a whisper.

"Oh, awesome." Liam slaps Daisy on the back as he walks towards the door. "We get to meet the Daisy clone."

"Yeah, I guess," Daisy responds, less than thrilled at Liam's reply.

I zip up my backpack and slip it onto my shoulders. "So, we're going to kill him so you can get all your shit back?" I follow Liam out the door. "Sounds fun."

From behind us, I hear Daisy exclaim, "No! That is... not necessarily what we're going to do."

As we walk towards the stairs, Woody adds, "Should have just snuck away and called a cab, man."

"I think these are the first trees I've seen since we've gotten to the city," I comment, climbing out of the backseat. Looking closer at the fenced in pseudo-park, I grimace. "Oh my god, they're not even natural. They're like-" I walk closer to the fence, leaning across the spiked top. "fucking palm trees!"

"Maze," shouts Liam's voice from the entrance of the building. "Quit talking to the fucking landscaping and come on!"

Grumbling, I cross the parking lot and enter the building, immediately feeling out of place in my cargo pants and tank top. The marble floors are polished almost brightly enough to see my reflection in. The walls are inlaid with dark wood, with a few paintings that look familiar enough to make me suspect that they're originals. One of the walls is recessed slightly, to hold a quietly burbling waterfall, just under a plaque with the building's name on it.

"Jesus, Daisy," Woody states. "wonder what your house is like, if this is what your office looks like."

Daisy straightens the lines of his sport coat and approaches the brightly smiling human seated at the desk. "I'm here to see Stanley O'Kirk," he states, simply.

The woman briefly appraises the three of us over Daisy's shoulder, before returning her attention to him. Her tone is professionally pleasant, albeit hesitant. "Do you... have an appointment with Mr. O'Kirk?"

"I don't need one." Daisy smiles. "I'm his brother, don't you see the resemblance?"

Blinking, the woman picks up a phone. "I'll have to call up to him, make sure he's in. You understand, I'm sure." Daisy simply stares down at her as she nervously dials. Turning her chair around, her words muffled slightly, I hear the tinny sound of an agitated voice on the other end of the line. "Oh," the woman replies. "I'm-" she pauses. "I didn't-" another pause, before she straightens up and very clearly says: "Yes, Mr. O'Kirk. Right away, sir." The woman hangs up the phone and stands up quickly, almost knocking her chair over. Liam and I share an amused look as she rushes around to the other side of the desk. "I'm so sorry, please come with me." As the four of us follow the woman into an elevator, she hastily taps a button for the top floor. "I didn't realize that Mr. O'Kirk was waiting for you, he must have forgotten to put you down in the books. Understandable, he's such a /busy/ man..."

I zone out as the woman continues to talk, watching the numbers above the door as the elevator slowly climbs upwards. Some sort of monotonous Muzak plays over our heads, droning on as steadily as the human from the front desk. The elevator dings, signaling our arrival at the designated floor, and I dart out of the open doors before anyone else, entering a large carpeted office, set in the same dark wood accents as the lobby. Standing by what looks like a fully stocked bar, a crystal decanter in his hand and an expectant look on his face, is the man from the billboard. Daisy's fetch. My nose wrinkles.

_his scent is all wrong. its like someone tried to make daisy into a cologne and then sprayed it on a pile of newspapers._

The others exit the elevator, save for the yammering human. Pouring the liquid from the decanter into two glasses, the fetch holds one out to Daisy. "I imagine you haven't lost your taste for single malt whiskey?" Daisy approaches the bar and takes the glass silently. "Have a seat," the fetch looks over to Woody, Liam and I. "Would anyone else like a drink?" 

"I'll take something with dark rum, if you have it," replies Woody.

Liam ignores the offer, taking a seat next to Daisy. Woody collects his drink and sits, as well. I remain standing, pacing quietly behind the guy's chairs, my eyes following Daisy's fetch as he retrieves his own drink and sits across from Daisy. He stares at Liam with an odd expression until Daisy speaks. "Did you know I was coming?"

"Yes. In a way." The fetch sips at his drink. "I could sense you. Like when a piece of metal draws near to a magnet."

"You didn't think about running off and hiding somewhere?" Daisy asks.

"Why would I do that?" The fetch responds.

"Because it's someone else's life you're living in, right now," I answer, glaring at the fetch.

Gently swirling the liquor around his glass, the fetch contemplates for a moment before responding, "If it's not my life, how do I have all the memories of it?"

"Do you have all the memories?" Daisy gulps from his glass. "Do you still have all of them?"

The fetch stares at Daisy, his expression confused, then angry. "Have you been stealing from me?"

Liam pipes up, "How could he steal something that's his in the first place?"

Turning his attention to Liam, the fetch gives him another odd look. "Don't I know you?"

Shifting his gaze from Daisy, to the fetch, Liam replies, "Daisy knows me."

"No, no. You're that kid. That boy." The fetch taps his hand on the table, as if trying to jar his memory. "Lyonson! That's right. Ashton Lyonson. That woman brought you here when you were a kid. She said she was your mom, she said you were in trouble. You had gotten kidnapped and she managed to get you out-"

"What?" Liam leans forward. "What the fuck are you talking about?" He looks at Daisy, who simply shrugs. I look from Liam to Daisy, brow furrowed.

"Looks like they must have caught you again. Sorry about that, Ashton. I tried to help you and that woman the best that I could, really." The fetch's words seem sincere, but something like amusement dances behind his eyes.

"My name isn't Ashton!" Liam pushes his chair back roughly enough to send it flying backwards into the darkly polished wooden secretary behind it. Stalking over to the elevator, he hammers the 'down' button and waits for the doors to open. 

I look from Woody to Daisy, my eyebrow raised. Daisy gives me the tiniest of nods, and I walk over to stand by the elevator. When the doors open, I step in after Liam, and we ride silently down to the lobby. 

Once outside Liam hops up into the truck bed, perching on the hatchback. I climb in and sit next to him, sneaking glances at his frowning, far away expression. After a few minutes, I state: "It might not even be true. It's not like that thing up there is even a real person."

Liam exhales an exasperated sigh. "Yeah? Then how the fuck does it know more about me than I do?"

I fall silent, staring out towards the street. There's a homeless woman, dressed in layers of mismatched clothing, trying to sleep on a bench that's barely wide enough to sit on.

_the fetch has more memories than i do too. everyone and everything seems to have more memories than i do. all i can remember is being in the pits. fighting in the pits. killing in the pits. dying in the pits._

"Does this mean I was taken twice?" Liam asks, breaking me out of my thoughts. He runs his hands through his hair, staring down between his feet. "Did that woman -my mom or whoever she was- get me out, and take me to Daisy..." he pauses. "Did they all try to help me just for me to fuck up and somehow end up at the fucking Green Mountain again?"

Contemplating the fetch's words, I speak aloud before I can realize the magnitude of my statement. "Jesus, is that how they grabbed Daisy, too?" Liam turns to look at me, his eyes wide, his usually stoic expression wracked with guilt. "Fuck. Li, I-" He turns away before I can finish, and I just let the words dissolve as I stare down into my lap, idly picking at the seam of my pants. 

Sometime later, Daisy and Woody come back out and climb into the truck. Liam and I jump out of the truck bed and into the backseat, wearing similar expressions of melancholy. Daisy stares thoughtfully out of the side window.

Attempting to rouse the group out of our collective funk, Woody cheerfully asks, "Where to now, folks?" He's greeted by a cold silence. "Anyone hungry?" Silence. "Alright! Murphy's it is!" He starts the engine, humming under his breath as he pulls out of the parking lot.

Murphy is his usual amiable self, not seeming to take offense at the three fourths of the motley that retains a dour silence, other than to order our meals. Once the food arrives and everyone digs in, attitudes seem to improve slightly, whether from Murphy's exceptional cooking or Woody's regular attempts to brighten the general mood of the table. 

Eventually, I set set my fork down, staring down at the puddle of red juices and meat on my plate. Speaking quietly, despite the lack of ears around us, I ask, "What do you think Godwin wants from us?"

"Mmph." Woody signals to speak with a single, muffled sound as he chews a mouthful of food. After swallowing, he replies, "If I had to guess, drag us back to you know where, so you know who doesn't turn him into an anal bead or something." Woody's left hand curls around the handle of his mug as he speaks, taking a drink of deep black coffee his little quip.

Frowning, I respond: "He," I sigh. "/they/ tried pretty fucking hard to take us out back at the last freehold. Didn't really seem like a 'bring em back alive' kind of situation."

Woody sits back in the booth, tapping his fingers on his mug. "All the court heads here seem pretty damned capable of handling themselves if worse comes to worse. You think otherwise?"

"Handle it, yeah. Like the last freehold handled him." I gesture to Liam and myself. "Like we handled him?"

Liam finally speaks up. "No one's unbeatable, and anyone thinking they are is just going to make the situation worse." He blows a bubble into his chocolate milk while sighing through his nose.

Cutting off another piece of meat, I gnaw on it thoughtfully. "Maybe his fucking head will stay off this time," I comment, my mouth full.

"I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure it does," Liam peers at me over the top of his glass. "and if your lizard steps in the way, then I'll put him down too." 

Baring my teeth at Liam, I quickly retort, "Ain't my lizard." I swallow the chunk of meat in my mouth, adding, "Can't complain about your enthusiasm, though."

"I'm nothing, if not enthusiastic." He retorts, deadpan. Charlotte crawls down the side of his face and onto the collar of his shirt

"What if this just ends up a repeat of Saint Jean's?" Frowning, I look back behind the counter where Murphy is working. "It's gonna get real old making friends just to have em get slaughtered."

Woody's eyebrows raise, though the skin above them remains unwrinkled. "Wait, so what exactly happened in Saint Jeans? I'd heard there were issues, but didn't get details."

"Bunch of folks in the freehold died, because of fucking Reptile and Raiden." Liam leans over the table, grabbing a forkful of hashbrowns from Daisy's plate before setting his back against the booth. Turning his attention to me, he shrugs. "No one here is our friend, we've known them, what, twenty four hours?"

"And they've offered us respite from every challenge we've faced since getting spit off that boat." Woody grabs a biscuit from his plate, dipping it into a bowl of waiting sausage gravy. "Pretty friendly." He takes a bite of the biscuit, chewing and swallowing before asking: "How did just the two of them manage to wipe out an entire Freehold? Or did they have cronies working with them?"

"It wasn't the entire freehold." I scowl at Liam. "We- they lost Roux, the Summer king. The Spring queen and Gerald," I pause. "Maybe someone else. I missed the last part on account of being gutshot and white knighted by Li."

"Just cause someone smiles in our face doesn't mean they're our friends." Liam looks at Woody with a raised eyebrow. "I wasn't sure you were going to work out for the first week or so, either."

Woody, a confused look on his face, responds, "It's only been six days."

Shrugging, Liam turns his attention to his chocolate milk. "Really? Weird."

I glare at Liam, retorting, "Most of these people have showed more kindness in less than a week than we've seen in who knows how long."

"That doesn't mean we should be going around trusting them with our lives," he responds, rolling his eyes.

"Ok, and we're not. But I trust our type over the fucking softies shooting each other over a pack of cigarettes out there in the streets." I take another bite of my food, angrily chewing the now cold meat.

Daisy, placing his knife and fork down onto his empty place, looks around the table as if just realizing there are other people sitting with him. After a moment, he says, "Look, it's a power in numbers kinda thing. I think it's a safe bet that most, if not all of these people have Godwins of their own. They're all safer because they have each other's backs when shit hits the fan. Saint Jean's was a fluke. We didn't know what was after us. If we tell the people here, we might stand a chance."

Staring at Daisy for a moment, impressed that he somehow followed the conversation, I reply, "Or they might blame us, like the Winter queen did. Maybe they'll call us murderers," I add, touching on my personal guilt.

"To be fair, we did murder a few people." Liam says with a shrug "If you all want to stick around here for a while then that's fine." He drinks the rest of his milk. 

I lean back in the booth and mumble, "Didn't murder anyone that didn't fucking deserve it." Wiping my mouth, I ask, "So, how the hell are we gonna bring that shit up? Oi Murphy, thanks for the food, we got a bunch of folks killed back in Canada, could I get a refill of tea?"

Liam nods. "Eh, pretty much. Why beat around the bush?"

"I'm sure Mr. Daisy, smooth talker that he is, could help break that news better than most." Woody scoops a little scrambled egg onto his biscuit, then takes a bite once he speaks. "We might need their help to deal with Daisy's situation regarding his long-lost, more fit and handsome younger twin, anyway. One shit storm at a time, though."

Shrugging one shoulder, I yell over to the man behind the counter, "Oi, Murphy!"

From within the kitchen, the pot-bellied cook cranes his neck. "Hey! That's Mr. Murphy, young lady. Unless yer my priest ahr my wiper, you better give some fuckin' respect when yeh call me!" Murphy emerges from the back, joining our table.

"Sorry," I respond, sheepishly. "Thanks again for the food, /Mr./ Murphy." I add, with the closest thing to a smile as I can manage. Looking around the table, I mumble. "Think I'll pass the talking stick to someone else."

Murphy looks around the table. "Well? Out wit' it, before I have to change the cabbage water."

"That's probably me," Daisy says with a sigh and a smile. "Well, first of all, we'd all like to thank you for your hospitality. It's no exaggeration that this is probably the best we've been treated since getting back. We are extremely grateful. Now, ah, we need to talk to you about something pretty serious." He looks around at the tables surrounding us. "Think we could, uh, get a bit of privacy?"

Leaning my elbow on the table, I watch as Murphy asks a set of off duty cops to relocate further into the restaurant. They comply without question, and Murphy pulls a stool to the end of our table, sitting down with an audible 'plop'.

"Thanks," repeats Daisy. "Again, we really appreciate how accommodating you're being." He leans in closer, speaking in a hushed tone, explaining how we've been hunted and attacked since our escape.

Murphy listens intently, picking at his teeth with a piece of cardboard as Daisy speaks. Once he's finished, Murphy comments, "Well, yer naht the first and you'll naht be the last. We had a young ked with the same problem as you jest a few months ago. Which ones are one yer back?"

"Godwin," I answer.

"And his lizard man slave thing." Liam quips, his tone irritated.

"Elekite," I say, shooting Liam a disgruntled look. Turning my attention back to Murphy, I ask, "What kid?"

"Teenager, said his name was Roots." As Murphy talks, we all exchange a puzzled look. "Godwin? Older lookin' fella with all the damned lightnin' in Christendom comin' out his arse? That man's dead, happy to tell you. Him's that you mention got popped in the face with a metal pole somethin' nasty."

Frowning, I reply, "Oh yeah? Has that happened in the past uh, forty eight hours? Cause otherwise we've got some more bad news."

"No, last month or so. The boy, Roots, tricked the bastahrd into a corner with old Larry. Man went flat as a bible's page." Murphy replies.

Woody comments, "Seems that's not the only biblical part about him."

Poking my fork into the lump of cold meat on my plate, I add, "Weebles fucking wobble, I guess."

"Next time I take his head off it'll will be with iron! And I'll keep it." Liam crosses his arms, glowering at the table in front of him.

I nudge his foot under the table. "That was probably our first mistake, not keeping it."

"We'll get it stuffed and mounted next time for you two." Daisy takes a drink of his orange juice before turning back towards Murphy. "Godwin has a habit of not staying dead. He's been chasing us for the past six days."

Murphy scratches his head, listened to our brief exchange before responding. "I'd never heard o' a man that could come back from that sorta death, but you know the wonders o' this world never cease. It ain't much, but at least yer with yer own now with a horde o' Sleepers all around. No place safer."

"That's what they said at the last place," I respond, unable to meet Murphy's eyes. "They were pretty wrong."

Daisy sighs. "Yeah, that's also something we wanted to talk about. In the spirit of full disclosure, we wanted to tell you about our first night back."

I listen as Daisy recounts the night at the Best Leg Tavern, fighting down the bitterness I feel at the sterility that comes from his version of the story.

_he ran the moment things got bad. he didnt have to see anyone mowed down with a shotgun. he didnt have fight for his life. he tucked his tail between his legs and ran._

"Well, shet," says Murphy. "I'd no idea that they were so damned willful. Not a'many o' them would do so much damage to a united freehold in a waystation. Even they should know that's the worst kinda way to temp' fate." As an afterthought, he quickly performs the sign of the cross on his chest.

"Tempting fate or not, some uh-" I place my hand flat on the counter, looking over to Murphy. "Well. It kind of makes you wonder if that shit wouldn't have happened if we hadn't shown up. And if that shit isn't just gonna happen again here."

Daisy quickly adds: "Obviously, we're trying to avoid that situation happening again, which is why we're telling you. We weren't sure how long we were going to be staying or else we would have told you sooner. But, we discussed it and came to the conclusion that staying put is our best bet for survival. That is... if you and the rest of the monarchs are alright with that risk."

"We're not asking y'all to take bullets for us or anything." I look around at the others. "We can hold our own. It'd just be nice to settle down for a little bit."

Without contemplation or hesitation, Murphy replies with a shrug and a curt statement, "Sure, why the hell not?" Following up, he adds, "I can only speak for me and mine, but I don't rightly care what you got goin' on before here. Ain't my business. Jus' follow the rules and heed the seasons and we're all peaches and cream."

Feeling mildly satisfied, I ask: "Is this something we all agree with though?" I look to Liam. "What d'you think, Li?"

Liam waves his hand dismissively. "If we're gonna stick around, it clears my conscience if anything happens." He holds his empty cup, allowing Charlotte to crawl from his hand to the edge of the glass.

"It all sounds good to me," says Woody, after a long drink of coffee.

Daisy nod. "I've got plenty of loose ends to tie up in the city. Which reminds me," he looks over to Murphy. "there's a few things I need to talk to you about a little later."

Murphy stands, pushing his stool back into its spot under the counter. "You know where t'find me." He looks around the restaurant, acknowledging a group as they walk in. "If it's somethin' important I can take another minute for yeh,"

"Nothing uh, dire." Daisy wipes his mouth with a napkin, a brittle smile on his face. "Just some stuff regarding the lawyer in charge of your finances, Mr. O'Kirk."


	12. Chapter 12

New York City. Sept of 2000.

"We probably should have just stayed at Murphy's with Daisy, this place looks like a fucking shithole," Liam gripes.

Woody, already walking into the small, rundown cigar shop, ignores Liam's comment. I look over at the row of motorcycles parked in the front row of spots. "We could always knock all these over, start a riot or something?"

Eying up a red Harley, Liam contemplates. "I wouldn't mind having a bike..." There's a roar of engines as another set of motorcycles pull up, parking behind the existing row. The hulking, leather clad bikers climb off their bikes, glaring at Liam suspiciously as they saunter into the shop. Raising my eyebrow, I look at Liam as he shrugs and says: "Eh, they don't look that tough."

I shake my head and gesture towards the door. "C'mon, asshole, before Woody pisses someone off and needs us to come save him." We enter the cigar shop, which appears to be strangely empty despite the busy parking lot. 

A heavyset human at the counter pauses in the middle of his argument with Woody to look up at Liam and I, briefly surveying us before waving us towards the back of the store. "Go on downstairs," he directs.

Liam and I share a confused look as Woody tosses his hands in the air, indignant. "What the fuck, you just told me you're 'at capacity' downstairs." 

The man shrugs. "They're on the list."

"Bullshit," Woody gestures towards Liam and I, "they came here with me!"

Laughing, Liam walks past Woody and heads towards the back of the store. "I don't know this guy." He pulls open a door and a blast of loud music fills the room. Shouting over the noise, he continues, "Never see him before in my life!" and heads downstairs, the door slamming shut behind him.

I roll my eyes and approach the counter. Digging in my pocket, I toss a dirty, crumpled up ten dollar bill in front of the guy. "Here's ten bucks, don't be such a dick." Grabbing Woody's arm, I lead him towards the door Liam disappeared into, pushing him in front of me in case the man decides to be even more impolite. We make it to the door and down the stairs without incident.

  
Groaning under my breath as we step into a writhing mass of reeking humans, my ears are immediately assaulted by the screech of guitars as people with instruments in their hands begin attempting to use them while standing on a low stage in front of the crowd. "This is fucking terrible," I yell over to Woody.

Woody stares at me, uncomprehending. I see him mouth the word: "What?"

"This is fucking terrible!" I repeat, to no avail. Shrugging, Woody turns and begins moving towards a bar on the other side of the room. I start to follow him when a shirtless, mohawked teenaged rams his shoulder into me, whooping loudly. "The fuck," I exclaim, pushing him aside. Another body knocks into me, a short girl wearing jeans as wide as she is tall. Failing to hold my temper, I cock my fist back and crack it against the jaw of the next guy who runs into me, knocking him out cold. The crowd cheers, lifting his unconscious body over their heads and passing him around at the goading of a growling voice onstage. I use the distraction to disengage from the group, joining Liam and Woody at the bar. "I hate this city, SO fucking much. Why does everyone around here like being hit?"

Woody and Liam laugh. The bartender, a tall, well built human with a half shaved head, comments. "That's what happens when you hit up BDSM clubs and mosh pits, man."

I give him a sharp look, as Liam explains, "That's Charon. He's uh, what's it fucking called..."

"Ensourceled," finishes the bartender, Charon.

"Ah," I reply, still staring. "By like, who?"

Charon point towards the stage, and I turn to see the source of the semi-melodic shrieking and growling that passes for singing in this establishment. The sound comes from a half dressed changeling, thin to the point of emaciation, his skin so pale its almost blue. Black makeup is smeared across his eyes and lips, and his colorless hair falls in sweaty clumps around his face. The changeling throws himself down onto the stage, wrapping the cord of the microphone around his throat and miming hanging himself as he wails incomprehensibly. "Wane and I have only been in the city for a few days, he got tired of playing in Jersey."

"Oh." Blinking, I stare into the crowd. "Neat." 

"Hey! Hey, someone break that shit up," Charon yells towards a group of guys trying to grope a girl dressed in jeans and a bra top. 

Grabbing Woody's mostly empty glass from his hand, I peg it at the largest guy, nailing him right in the head, ice raining down on the rest of the would be assaulters. They disperse and the girl quickly scampers off to join her friends.

"Thanks," says Charon, pouring Woody another drink. "You looking for work? We could use a bouncer who actually, y'know," he glares over to a bald man who looks to be napping against the wall. "does something."

Liam scoffs. "Right. Maze would throw everyone out just for being human, and near her."

Shrugging a shoulder, I watch as the changeling onstage hikes his pants down to his ankles, the cord of the microphone still wrapped around his neck, his voice ebbing and cresting as the mic swings in front of his mouth. Kicking his feet, he shakes his pants the rest of the way off, and with wide, staring eyes, screams into the crowd: "YOU CAN KILL ME, BUT I'LL NEVER FUCKING DIE!" He heaves himself off the stage, the microphone stand trailing behind him, knocking a guy in the face as the crowd lifts the changeling above their heads. There's a squeal of feedback as the mic cord detaches from the stand, and the underwear clad changeling rolls out of the group of people, taking off up the stairs without a second glance.

"Um, fuck." Charon leans over the bar, staring towards the stairs, alarmed. "Fuck. That's not part of the show." The band keeps playing, and the crowd doesn't seem to notice or care that there's no longer a singer on stage. Looking around the bar with a worried expression, Charon glances up at Woody, Liam and I. "Could you guys look after the bar while I go after Wane? He must be on a bad trip, or something."

Woody starts to respond, "Sure-"

"Uh, no." I turn to the bartender, attempt some sort of civility as I say, "We'll go after him. It's safer anyway, since we're, you know..."

"Right," Charon agrees. "Yeah, you're probably right." He grabs a bar napkin and a pen, scribbling on it for a moment before handing it to Woody. He digs in his pocket and hands me a ring of keys. "Here's our address and the keys, you can just dump him at the apartment to sleep it off. I wrote a couple places he usually ends up at when he's high, too. Just in case."

Liam comments, "Oh boy, it's like we're playing Where's Waldo, only it's the New York version. Where's the junkie?" 

Rolling my eyes, I slide off the bar stool and we head upstairs and out to the truck.

  
We're driving around the main streets near the cigar shop when a small blue moped pulls up next to the truck. Clinging to the driver's back is a nearly naked, helmetless, Wane. At a red light, I roll down the window. "Wane. Hey, Wane!"

The ghostly pale changeling turns his head, smiling at me in a vacant way. "Hey, dude. What are you doing on this side of the jungle?"

"What?" I shake my head and prop open the door. "Listen, Wane? You need to get in the truck. Charon sent us to come get you."

Wane looks vaguely frightened. "No! There's already people trying to get me!" He stares behind him, at nothing.

Liam rolls down the window. "Christ's sakes, just get in the fucking truck!"

"We've got some good shit in here," Woody adds, yelling across Liam. "Some good drugs."

"Really?" Wane asks, suddenly alert. "You guys got any bones?"

"Uhh, yeah. Plenty of bones. At least two hundred of them," Woody replies.

"Cool." Wane hugs the moped driver before climbing off. "Thanks for the ride, Benny."

"My name is Enrique," the driver corrects, as he speeds away from the truck.

"C'mon Wane, get in." I gesture towards the open door as the cars behind us start to honk. 

Wane crawls into the truck bed and Woody shrugs, driving though the intersection as I shut my door again. "Better than nothing, I guess." We start to drive towards the address scribbled on the bar napkin when there's a thump in the trunk bed. "Fuck," Woody says, looking into the rearview mirror.

Standing in the truck bed, his underwear rippling in the wind, Wane spreads his arms and whoops. The microphone cord, somehow still wrapped around his neck, trails behind him like the ends of a scarf. "I'm the king of the world!" he shouts. His cheering is quickly drowned out by the sound of a police siren, as a cop car pulls behind us, flashing their lights.

"You've gotta be kidding me," grouses Woody.

"Fuck'em," states Liam. "Gun it, you can lose a cop car."

Our problem is temporarily solved as Wane leaps out of the moving truck, stumbling to his knees on the asphalt before bouncing back up and running into an alley, his bare feet slapping against the filthy street. The cop car turns pulling towards the alley and blocking the entrance off. 

"Shit," I mumble. "Woody, pull over." Before the truck is fully stopped, I jump out of the back seat, quickly hurtling down the alley. Wane is cornered against a wall, shivering, a trash can lid held like a shield in one hand. The cop has his taser out, and is pointing it at Wane. 

"Drop the lid, put your hands on your head," the cops demands.

"Stop!" I snap, and the cop jumps, turning and aiming the taser at me. 

  
The streets are bitterly cold, and I seek refuge between two buildings, hoping they provide at least minimal shelter against the wind. Every inhale makes my lungs burn. I pull the collar of my oversized coat over my cheeks, burying my face in the fabric. It stinks of body odor and old cigarettes. Red and blue lights flash, and although I pray for them to pass, the alley is quickly illuminated as the cop car stops at the corner adjacent to the wall I'm currently huddled against. I vaguely recognize the cop that steps out. Officer Somebody. One of the many town cops that seem to make it their personal ambition to run me out of town or see me in prison with my parents. The cop says something to me, and I don't answer right away. He swings his foot, catching me in the ribs. I gasp in a breath of too-cold air, rolling onto my side. I feel his foot connect with my side, with my back. Always in the same spot, all of the cops hit right in the same spot, right over the kidneys. He keeps kicking, and I start to realize that this one is going to go too far. Some almost long lost survival instinct kicks in, and I grab at his foot, mid swing. Sinking my teeth into the cop's calf, he screams, pulling his baton from his belt and brandishing it at me. I hear a voice from the entrance of the alley. "Hey, leave that girl alone!" as the officer strikes out with his baton. I managed to grab it, surprising him enough that he drops it. He's reaching for his gun when I bring the baton down on his knee cap. The cop falls backwards, his head hitting the corner of the dumpster. I clutch his baton in my hand, still curled on the ground, watching his body lay still and unmoving on the ground. Watching the pool of blood from his head steadily grow larger.

  
My hand is affectionately stroking the handle of my bat, and my quiet snarling is drowned out by the sound of the nearby traffic. 

_pig. ill kill you you fucking pig._

"Ma'am, I need you to step back," the officer commands.

"Yeah?" My mouth waters slightly, as I anticipate the salt-sweet taste of his flesh between my teeth.

Another car pulls up in front of the alley, and I hear Woody's voice, tentatively asking, "Uh, Maze? Did you find your... brother?"

I lick my lips, eyes still on the cop. "My brother," I state. 

_get yourself under control._

"Wane." Swallowing down a mouthful of saliva, I look down the alley at Wane. "Right." Turning my attention back to the cop, I carefully state, "That man is my brother. He's developmentally disabled, and he needs to take his medicine. We're just trying to get him home." I raise my voice. "Right, Wane?"

Quietly, from his spot behind the trashcan lid, Wane says, "I've got a deflector shield."

Raising my eyebrows, I wait for the cop to respond. 

He frowns, stowing his taser back in his belt. "Fine. You need to get him dressed and get him off the streets. This sort of behavior makes him a danger to himself and to other people."

"Yes, sir." Woody responds, when I remain silent.

Turning away from the cop, I approach Wane and gently tug the lid from his hands. "C'mon, /brother/. Let's get you home." When he seems unwilling or unable to walk, I easily pick up the smaller changeling and heft him over my shoulder.

"Jack, I'm flying..." Wane whispers, head hanging upside down.

Walking past the cop, I fight down the urge to snap at him like a wild dog. Woody seems to be holding his breath, watching me carefully until I open the door of the truck, setting Wane inside and climbing in afterwards. "Alright," he comments, getting back in the driver's seat. "Good job, everyone."

As the truck pulls away from the curb, Wane scoots across the back seat, half crawling into my lap and pressing his face into my chest. "Thanks, mommy.." he mumbles, his words muffled by my breasts.

Liam snorts laughter in the front seat, as I sigh and passively pet the side of Wane's head.

  
We pull up to a not-terrible apartment complex. Woody parks out front and retrieves a pint of liquor from the glove compartment, taking a quaff from the bottle and setting his seat back. "You guys can go ahead and take baby bunting up to his apartment, I'm just going to hang out right here."

Rolling his eyes, Liam gets out of the truck and opens the back door for me. Tucking one arm under Wane's back and another under his skinny legs, I slide out of the car, carrying the half naked changeling like a baby. "Great," Liam says, looking at the napkin. "He's on the highest fucking floor, of course." 

"Well, let's fucking get on it," I grumble. Liam and I enter the building and start up the stairs. After a few floors, I hear the sound of another set of feet climbing the stairs. Sniffing the air, my hackles go up, and I whisper to Liam, "Move a little quicker."

"Is your Spidey sense tingling?" Liam asks, upping his pace slightly. The sound of footsteps below us also increase in pace, and Liam gives me a concerned look. We both climb faster, taking the stairs two at a time once we hear the obvious sounds of pursuit. 

I'm at least comforted by the out of breath panting I hear from whoever is following us. Liam and I make it to the correct floor, and I whisper, "left pocket!" to him as we stop in front of Wane's apartment. Liam retrieves the keys and after a few tries, gets the right key to unlock the door. We dart inside, Liam quietly closing and latching the door as I toss Wane onto the couch. "What the fuck?" I whisper.

"Was that fucking Godwin and Elekite?" Liam asks, his eyes wide.

"No," I reply, looking out the window. "Definitely not them." I see the truck still parked at the curb, and Woody still reclining in the driver's seat. "I don't know who the fu-"

There's pounding at the door, the sound of a meaty fist striking the wood hard enough to shake it in its frame. 

"Don't want any cookies," Wane mumbles, closing his eyes and hugging a throw pillow. "...girl scouts are fascists."

"We fucking saw you, you little shit," shouts a deep voice from the other side of the door. "It's gonna be worse for you if you don't let us in."

"Fuck you!" Shouts Liam.

"Fuck /you/!" replies a different voice. "Hector, get this door open."

Unsnapping my bat from my belt, I prop it on my shoulder. Moving to stand in front of the couch, I unconsciously block Wane's body with my own. Liam takes a similar stance on the other side of the couch, clutching what looks like some sort of decorative sword in his hands. "Found it," he comments, in response to my briefly raised eyebrow.

There's the sound of a large body hitting the door once. Twice. The third time, the door flings open, the doorknob smashing a small hole into the wall behind it. An ogre with sickly green skin, taller than my six foot four and almost as wide, stands in the hallway. A shorter man with a moist, wrinkled appearance steps into the apartment. A pair of overlarge sunglasses hide the majority of his facial features, making him look like a human sized grub. He gives Liam and I a lengthy once over, stating: "You went through the trouble of getting bodyguards, kid?"

"Looks like you've got one too," Liam points out, nodding towards the ogre as he ducks into the apartment.

The man glances back at the ogre. "Who, Hector? He's not my bodyguard, he's an enforcer. We both are."

"Enforcer for who?" I ask. "What are you enforcing?" 

"For Lord Tyler," he replies, looking at me like I'm stupid.

"And what the fuck are you enforcing?" I repeat, angrily.

"You're really irritating," the man responds. "Hector, grab the kid so we can get this shit done, this has already taken way too fucking long."

Hector, the ogre, moves forward, towards the couch. I step directly in his way, staring up at him with my bat on my shoulder. Hector looks at me, frowns, then looks back at the other man. "She won't move, boss."

The man in sunglasses makes a disgusted sound. "Then /make/ her move, for christ's sake!"

Hector looks back at me. "I can't hit a girl."

Incredulous, I interject, "I wouldn't really worry about that. I mean, I'd definitely hit you back, if it makes you feel better." 

Shrugging, Hector looks back at his boss. "Can't hit a girl. It's impolite."

Cursing, the man in sunglasses makes a move towards Wane. Liam is there, blocking his way with the sword. The man attempts to move around him and Liam stabs forward with the sword. His body stretching, abdomen somehow lengthening like an accordion, the man avoids the blade, only receiving the slightest graze on his side. Hector moves to aid his boss and I stick to him like glue, once more blocking his way. The ogre gives a frustrated gnarl, and I simply stare up at him, passively.

There's a stirring from behind us, on the couch, and I hear Wane slur out, "Shit... you guy have been followin' me."

Still parrying with Liam, the man in sunglasses responds, "No shit! The king gave you three fucking days and you spent them getting fucked up and singing at that fucking cigar shop."

"Wait, three days for what?" I look over my shoulder at Liam and the man. "Does he owe the king money or something?" 

"He's gotta join a court or leave," answers Hector. 

Looking back to the ogre, I give him a small smile. "Hey, thanks for the straight answer, buddy." Turning back and scowling at the other man, I state, "Has anyone actually explained any of the court shit to Wane, or did you just drop an ultimatum in his lap and then stalk him for three days?"

"It's not our job to spoon feed some courtless little shit until he can put his big boy pants on," the man responds, earning a jab with the sword from Liam.

I look up at Hector, backing up until I'm at the couch. Sitting next to Wane, I shake his shoulder and try to rouse him. "Wane, wake up."

"...not hungry," Wane sighs, trying to roll over and face the wall.

Sighing, I slap his cheek, hard enough to bring a flush of red to the blue-white pallor of his skin. "Wake the fuck up!"

"Ow! Farfegnugen! I said no hitting in this face!" Wane rubs his cheek and sits up, looking around at the people in his apartment. "Oh shit, who the fuck are all of you guys?"

"I'm Maze, that's Liam." I point to the man in sunglasses and the ogre. "That's Hector and some fucking dickstain who are probably going to kill you or run you out of the city if you don't pick a fucking court to join."

Wane looks at each person in turn, eyes staying on Hector as he confirms, "She's right, y'know." 

Still appearing vaguely confused, his pupils dilated to cover almost the entire pale blue iris of his eyes. Wane states, "I don't... want to go to court?"

Running my hands through my hair, frustrated, I contemplate for a moment before tentatively saying, "Listen, you like to make people feel stuff with your music, right? You like to make them think about death and get all sad and stuff?" Toying with the microphone around his neck, Wane nods. "Ok, so you'd probably like the Winter court. The Marquise is really..." I pause. "you'll get along with her. She has a club that's kind of like yours."

Over Liam's shoulder, the man with the sunglasses frowns, beginning to look disappointed. Wane wipes at his nose, looking forlorn. "If I say yeah, will everybody stop following me around?"

I look at sunglasses and Hector. The man with sunglasses reluctantly nods. "If you join the Winter court, we'll go back to Lord Tyler and let him know." His forehead scrunches up under the glasses. "But don't think you can bullshit us, or the king! He talks to the other monarchs, so he'll fucking know."

"Alright," sighs Wane.

"You'll join the Winter court?" I confirm.

"Yeah," he agrees, laying his head back down on the arm of the couch.

"Cool, now you two can get the fuck out of here," Liam comments, still holding his sword at the ready. "You owe Wane a new fucking door," he adds, as the man with sunglasses stalks out into the hallway.

Hector moves towards the exit, carefully pulling the door from it's spot wedged in the drywall. "Bye, Maze," he says, sheepishly.

"Bye, Hector." I reply, off Liam's snickering. The ogre closes the door behind him, and the broken door slowly swings back open, I turn to Wane. "You need to call your human."

"Charon," Liam clarifies.

"Right. That one," I say. "Call that guy and tell him we got you home alright. Tell him you're going to need to go to Ill and meet the Marquise pretty fucking soon."

"And you need a new door," Liam adds.

"Right." I awkwardly pat Wane on the head before rising from the couch. "Make sure to put something behind the door to hold it shut until you get a new one."

"Alright," Wane agrees, flopping an arm over the couch cushion.

I look at Liam, who shrugs and heads for the door. With a last, worried glance at Wane, I follow him out. I'm relieved to hear the door being wedged shut once we start down the stairs. "What a walking fucking disaster," Liam comments as we descend.

"He seems like an decent kid, " I say. "Just a little fucked up. We're all fucked up though, aren't we?"

Liam stops, turning and staring at me. "Ew. Stick to mooning over Trog, you'd just end up breaking this one."

I also stop, narrowing my eyes at Liam. "The fuck are you trying to say?"

"Did I stutter?" Liam asks.

"You're going to stutter, when I bust your fucking head in," I push him into the wall. He pushes me back and we end up barreling down the stairs at top speed, racing each other while trying to pinch and slap to slow one another's pace. We make it to the bottom of the stairs at exactly the same time, panting with exertion as we climb into the truck. 

"What the hell took so long," Woody asks, starting up the engine.

"Fuck off," I gasp, rolling down my window and sticking my head into the cool air.

"Eat shit," wheezes Liam, leaning his head against the back of the seat.

"Damn, I was just asking!" Woody pulls away from the curb and heads back to the hotel.


	13. Chapter 13

New York City. Sept of 2000.

Catching a cab to Brooklyn takes almost an hour, and by the time one pulls over and I slide into the backseat, my jaw aches with how hard I'm grinding my teeth. Staticky music comes through the speakers and I force my voice to be as close to pleasant as possible as I ask, "Could you please turn the radio off?"

"Sure," responds the cab driver, peering at me in the rearview mirror. "You a baseball player?"

"Mhmm," I grunt out, not trusting my temper enough to say anything else. Traffic isn't horrible, and the ride is blissfully brief. I pay the cab driver and escape the stinking confines of the vehicle. 

The bell above the door chimes as I enter Throttle & Clutch. "Hello..." From his spot behind the counter, Larry raises his head from his magazine and continues, "Welcome to..." he blinks. "Oh. Hello, Maze."

Glancing around the store for Tanya or Chad, I lean against the counter. "Hey, Larry. Anything crazy going on?" He stares at me blankly for a moment, before I add, "Just figured I'd check in, or whatever."

"Oh," he responds. 

_holy shit i bet there are brick walls that are more animated than larry._

"Are Tanya and Chad working tonight?" I ask.

"Chad is... doing..." Larry yawns into the back of his hand. "end of night... paperwork." He looks at a the screen showing security footage of the store. "Tanya... is stocking... the wiper fluid."

"Awesome. I'm going to go uh, say hi." I start to walk away, before pausing and turning back to Larry. "Actually," Larry looks back up from his magazine, appearing almost annoyed for a moment. "Mr. Murphy was telling us that you took out Godwin once. The loyalist who followed Roots here?"

"The one with the... lightning?" Larry actually smiles, his expression growing fractionally more animated. "Yeah. It was a lot like... when they drop and anvil on someone? In... Looney Tunes." He laughs.

"Huh. I actually understand that reference," I reply. Frowning, I continue. "Hate to shit on your pleasant memory, but he didn't stay dead. He's after me and my friends."

Larry shrugs. "Kill him again."

"That's another problem. We did. Liam and I took his head off before we got out. I fucking whacked it across the room like a golf ball," Larry smiles again at this comment. "The cat came back, though."

Scratching his short, bristly hair, Larry contemplates for a moment. "Sounds like he... isn't..."

"Isn't? Isn't what?" I stare down at Larry, trying not to let my frustration show on my face.

"The Gentry... you know," he pauses. "our keepers... they can... make things. Create a being." Off my confused look, he adds, "Like... your bat. Maybe... that's what... Godwin is."

_my bat? what do my bat and godwin have in common? what is he talking about?_

I'm looking at Larry, my right hand unconsciously grasping the handle of my bat, trying to figure out what the hell he's telling me. He stares back for a few moments, before seeming to lose interest and turning back to his magazine. 

Tanya's voice comes from behind me. "Hey, Maze. What are you doing here?"

"Uh," I shake my head in attempt to clear it. Stepping away from the counter, I turn towards Tanya. "I was just... seeing what was up."

_jesus christ i sound like larry. i need to snap the fuck out of it._

Releasing my bat, I casually drop my hand to my side and add, "I got bored hanging around the hotel. Thought I'd see if you or Chad wanted to hang?" I add an upwards inflection to the end of my sentence, an attempt at authenticity. 

Eyebrow raised, Tanya quietly appraises me for a moment. "Really?" She smiles. "Cool. We're actually closing up in about," she checks her watch, "twenty minutes. We can wrangle Chad and hit up Ill."

Inwardly groaning, I force an attempt at a smile on my face and respond, "Great, I'll wait out front for you guys." Once outside, I consider hailing another cab and leaving, cursing the lack of cash in my pocket as I grudgingly perch on a planter and wait for Tanya. After about fifteen minutes, the interior lights of the store flick off, and Tanya comes out, locking the door behind her. 

Another five minutes pass and Chad comes zipping around to the front, his game show host grin plastered on his face. "Hi there, Maze!" he calls out, cheerfully, unlocking the driver's side door of a dirt splattered Jeep Wrangler.

"Hey," Tanya strides over to Chad's car, leaning into the window. "Come to the club with Maze and me." 

Still grinning, Chad apologetically responds, "I was actually gonna grab some brewskis with the boys!"

Tanya frowns. "Uh, no. You're not turning this," she gestures to herself, then to me, "down to swig pisswater with a bunch of dudes."

"But, the game is on tonight," Chad insists. 

"Quit fucking around. Unlock the back door, you're driving." Chad dutifully does as he's asked and Tanya climbs in the back seat. "C'mon Maze, sit in the back with me."

"Um. Kay." I rise from the planter, severely regretting not calling a cab, and climb into the back seat with Tanya. 

She's pawing through her purse as she instructs Chad to drive to the Bronx, to Ill. Pulling out a tube of mascara she tells me to turn towards her. When I ask why, she informs me: "I'm just going to give your face a little bit of," she pauses, carefully studying my scowl. "definition."

With a sigh, I turn to Tanya and allow her to slather my face with waxy smelling product, almost looking forward to the perspiration and cheap perfume scented air of the club.

Entering Ill for the second time is no more pleasant than the first. I take a full and thorough survey of the dance floor and alcoves, ensuring I don't see any familiar, scaly figures. Tanya leads Chad and I around confidently, ordering the three of us drinks and slinking across the sticky, dirty smudged floor. Chad gulps down his drink, possibly out of a nervousness masked by his perpetual smile. I tip my drink into his empty glass and he either doesn't notice or doesn't care, downing the second beverage just as quickly. Tanya, pulling her work polo off and dancing in khakis and a bra, grabs Chad and begins grinding against him. Chad hovers his hands politely over her hips, seemingly unsure of how else to act. "Oh," he states, before she latches her mouth onto his, twisting her hands in the collar of his shirt as she kisses him deeply. Just as quickly, she detaches from him, pushing him backwards into one of the mirrors. "Okay," he says, dazed.

Tanya turns to me, and I have less than a second to consider how I'm going to react before her lips are on mine, as well. I return the kiss, her mouth and tongue tasting like lipstick and faint citrus. Her hands sneak under my shirt, palms grazing over my breasts as she breaks the kiss to slide the shirt up and over my head. "Oh." I say, as she tucks her hand in the waist band of my pants, pulling me towards the black curtains that block off one of the private rooms. Passing Chad, she grabs his waistband, pulling him along with her other hand. As Tanya kicks open the door, I look over to Chad, his slightly bewildered expression matching mine. The three of us enter the room, the door closing behind us. Tanya wiggles out of her pants and starts moving towards Chad and I. With a shrug, I unbutton my own pants. conceding with a simple: "Okay."

The guys are already asleep when Chad drops me off at the hotel. I crawl onto my pile of blankets and stare at the textured ceiling of our room.

_that was a fucking disappointment. for summer court they sure were more flash than fire. christ i wish we would just fucking find trog._

Rolling onto my side, I quickly fall asleep.

The unrelenting bass of Ill, now haunting my dreams, seems muffled. I stick my finger in my ear, trying to clear it as if it's my own hearing that's the problem. The club is packed with bodies, but everyone just seems to be a featureless, amorphous mass. The red lights flash strangely, reflecting at odd angles. When the fog machine goes off, I see the mist curl around something on the floor. Carefully moving around the mass of _people?_ I squat down by the floor. The artificial fog moves against a barrier, hitting something and moving away at an angle. I reach my fingers out slowly, very slowly, until I touch something solid. Some sort of a wall that blocks off the rest of the club. Squinting my eyes in the dim lighting, I see another figure moving in the blurry mass adjacent to mine. It's Daisy. I stand in place, waiting until he's facing my way, then I wave my arm to get his attention. I see his mouth move, saying something with the word 'fuck' in it. I shrug and look around for Liam or Woody. I find Liam quickly, gesturing from another quadrant. The middle of the club is darker, condensed with people as I try to see across to where I assume Woody is. There's a resounding thud as someone hits the barrier with their fist. I finally catch sight of Woody, furthest away from me.

The sound seems to shake some of the caul off of the mass in the middle of the room, and my stomach drops when I catch sight of who's standing directly under the main lights. Still slightly hazy, Godwin stares around the room, searching for us. Gripped in his hand is a leash, and tethered to the end of the leash is Elekite, his tongue darting out, tasting the air for our scent. My eyes wide, I silently gesture to Daisy, pointing to him, Liam and Woody, then to the door. Daisy nods his frantic agreement, moving to the side of his barrier that faces Liam. He stops and thinks for a moment, then, with his hands held palm out in front of him, he slowly begins to walk through the barrier as if it were little less than a soap bubble. He makes it to the other side safely, but much like an actual soap bubble, the barrier pops behind him. Again, the membrane of haze covering the middle of the room clears slightly. Small sparks of electricity begin to snap off of Godwin, as he and Elekite attempt to push their way through the nearly solid mass of people. I twirl my finger in the air, gesturing for the guys to hurry it along. Daisy and Liam rush to Woody's side of the barrier, and subsequently, the door. Trying a different approach, Liam reaches towards the middle of the barrier and grasps at it, a doorknob appearing in his hand. He swings the door open and he and Daisy hurry over to Woody. 

The entire side of their barrier collapses with a loud pop, and I shout, "No!" as Godwin's attention locks onto Daisy, Liam and Woody. The lights surge as he glows with voltage. As Godwin raises his hand to launch a bolt towards them, Woody grabs a bottle from a nearby table. With terrifying accuracy, he wings it at Godwin, hitting him right in the middle of the forehead. A bolt of lightning hits the ceiling and Godwin stumbles back, disoriented. He drops Elekite's leash and with a powerful leap, I crash through my side of the barrier, landing on Elekite's back as he stalks towards the guys. I sink my teeth into Elekite's shoulder, only losing my grip when he swipes me aside with his tail. "Go!" I yell over my shoulder, to the others. "Fucking run!" Godwin is recharging and Elekite is back on two legs, waiting for me to make my move as he drools venom from between his teeth. My eyes search his face, feebly hoping to see some sort of sensibility. 

_cmon elekite. you can fucking do this. turn your back on him. WE can fucking do this!_

He lunges forward and I meet him with teeth and claws. Warm blood pours down my back, either mine or Elekite's, and I hear something crash. Suddenly, it's raining inside. The sprinklers are going off. I see Godwin about to fire off another bolt of lightning and I hear Woody yelling my name. "Maze, get out of there!" Planting my foot against Elekite's chest, I push him further into the club. The wet floor is slippery, and I skid backwards on my heels before hurriedly climbing to my feet. Woody grabs my hand, pulling me out the front door and slamming it shut behind me. Then, silence.

"Where are-" the words die in my throat. Behind me, behind Woody, stands a mountain. The Mountain. The Green Mountain. And sitting on his throne, is the Lord of Green Mountain. His face is all eyes, and he's both magnificent and terrifying to behold. Woody stands beside me, petrified. I fall to my knees, afraid to look at his face any longer, afraid he'll sense my presence. There's a shrill, distant screaming, and I chance a glance upwards to see the Keeper's immense form clutching a tiny, struggling Godwin. In a heartbeat, he crushes the shrieking figure in one hand. Taking out a knife the size of a small fishing boat, he shaves off a single slice, barely a crumb, of his thumb. Rolling the piece of flesh between his fingers, it takes the form of a tiny man with flyaway hair and dark coveralls. The Keeper sets the tiny man on his leg, and opens his mouth to speak...

Flinging myself upwards into a sitting position, I clamp my hands over my ears, aware that I'm awake but terrified that I'll hear the Keeper's voice regardless. No one attempts to touch me, and after a few moments, I pull my shaking hands from the sides of my head, chancing a look around the room. 

Woody is sitting up, stock still on the edge of his bed, his expression haggard. Daisy and Liam both look slightly better, and Daisy perches on the table between Woody's bed and the couch. "What the hell happened to you two? We thought you were right behind us, and then you both disappeared. We almost expected you to be gone when we woke up." He takes a long look at my face, his expression curious. "Are you-" he frowns. "-wearing makeup? And is that Tanya's shirt?"

"For fuck's sake, Daisy," Liam snaps, scooting of the couch to join me in my nest of blankets.

I rub at my forehead, trying to clear the sight of the Keeper from the forefront of my brain. "Larry told me some shit tonight, about Godwin. Like, what he might be." Glancing down at my bat, I continue, "He said that keepers can make people, like... beings, the same way they make other things."

"Oh, like tokens?" Daisy asks, to a plethora of blank looks. "Magical items that fae creatures and goblins can make from ordinary stuff."

In a low, almost nauseated voice, Woody asks, "Or from pieces of their own body?"

"Huh. Well, yeah I guess if they're powerful enough." He looks at Woody. "Why?"

Laying back down, I cover my face with my arm, trying to tune out Woody's voice as he tells Daisy and Liam about our vision of the Keeper. 

_does this mean godwin is just a slave too? is he even a person? the keeper destroyed his body without a second thought does that mean godwin is just a pawn?_

I think of Roux, and Gerald, and other who may die by Godwin and Elekite's hands.

_no. theyre making their choices. godwin is either a person who made a choice, or something the keeper made specifically to kill us. elekite is making his choice every time he decides to fight. i cant fucking pity either of them._

Eventually I fall back asleep, or pass out due to sheer exhaustion. My sleep is mundane, and dreamless.


	14. Chapter 14

New York City. Sept of 2000.

I sit in the truck, parked in front of Locks, Stocks and Barrels, staring out the window while I wait for Liam, Daisy and Woody to return. An old homeless man pushes a cart full of odds and ends through the parking lot, the wheels squealing and scraping against the asphalt. Closing my eyes, I rest my head against the glass. 

_was that all i was before? just some homeless panhandler? the only memory ive had of my human life was of me being a piece of street trash._

I hear the muffled sound of the guy's voices as they exit the store, coming back to the truck with their purchases. The doors open and slam shut as the climb into the cab. "It honestly wounds me to buy anything cheaper than a Beretta," comments Daisy, frowning, as he retrieves a small handgun from his bag.

Liam, admiring his own handgun, shrugs. "I'm not complaining, as long as it kills something when I shoot at it." 

Pulling the truck out of the parking lot, Woody asks, "You plan on shooting at a lot of things?"

"Fucking Godwin and Elekite, next time they show their faces." Liam looks down the sight of his gun. "And anyone else that tries to take me back there."

Looking over at the unimpressive piece of metal in Liam's hand, I comment, "Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I prefer hand to hand." 

"Or bat to head," quips Woody.

"Oh, well I guess you don't want your present, then," Liam says, casually.

I turn to look at him, confused. "What?" I look at Daisy, sitting in the front seat. "The fuck are you talking about?"

Daisy tosses a bag over his should and I catch it with ease. Cautiously opening it, I retrieve the item inside, a heavy duty, tactical slingshot. "Ooh," I say, admiring the weapon. "It says it's hunting grade."

Liam snorts, "Told you she'd like it," he states to Daisy, as we head back to the hotel.

  
The parking lot in front of Murphy's is curiously full with an overabundance of dark colored Buicks and Cadillacs, so Woody parks the truck in front of the hotel. "Must be the pre-dinner rush," he comments, staring over at the cars.

"It's pretty fucking ominous," replies Liam, tucking his newly acquired gun into his waistband.

Woody side eyes him, raising an eyebrow. "So is playing Russian roulette with your dick, but there yo-"

"What's going on over there?" Daisy interjects.

"Over where?" asks Liam, as he and Woody try to follow Daisy's line of sight.

I look around, my eyes training on a a pair of figures outside of the military surplus store across the street. There's a small, human child, clutching the hand of a tall, thin woman whose skin emits a violet glow. The child, a blond boy of about 6 or 7, is quietly crying, and the woman bends down to wipe his tears with impossibly long fingers. 

"No fucking way," Daisy states, starting across the street, his attention fixed on the child and the changeling. A car honks, swerving to avoid hitting Daisy and slamming on its brakes to avoid me as I dart after him. The sound causes the woman to look up, catching sight of us. She yanks the child's hand, pulling him around the side of the building. Daisy pulls his gun out, quickly jogging in the same direction. I keep close behind him, hearing another screech of tires as Liam and Woody cross the street to join us. We enter the alley to see the woman pushing the protesting child through a stretch of blank wall. She turns to look at us, a brief expression of triumph on her face. Daisy raises his gun, taking aim just as she steps through the wall. "Fuck!" he shouts.

"Was that what I fucking thought it was?" comes Woody's voice, out of breath, from the entrance of the alley.

Liam stares at the spot where the woman and child disappeared. "She took him. Right in fucking front of us." He wipes at his face, still staring. "Jesus christ."

"FUCK!" Daisy repeats, punching his fist into the brick wall beside him.

I remain silent, walking past Daisy and approaching a small figure cowering just out of sight behind a dumpster. A small blond boy stares up at me with a wide eyed, terrified expression. "Please don't hurt me," the child whispers.

"Maze," Liam's voice carries down the alley, "what are you doing?"

Reaching out I grasp the child's arm and pull it out from behind the dumpster. It whimpers slightly, dragging it's feet as I bring it into the middle of the alley. I hear someone curse from behind me, but I don't turn around. The child trembles, reeking of self-soiled fear. "You guys should go back over to Murphy's," I state, calmly.

"Are you sure he's actually..." Woody trails off.

The child corks it's thumb in it's mouth in some sort of parody of regression. It's blue eyes spill over with tears as it looks up at me, perhaps seeking compassion or pity. I unhook my bat from my belt.

In a calm voice that nearly matches my own, I hear Daisy say, "She's right. Let's go back across the street."

Liam speaks my name again. Resting the end of my bat on the ground and staring down at the frightened child, I respond, "I'll take care of it." Eventually, I hear their footsteps retreating and the alley grows quiet, save for the child's fruitless weeping. Raising my bat, I rest it upon my shoulder, grinding my teeth as the child audibly snivels. My stomach lurches and I swing, closing my eyes just as the bat makes contact. There's the expected meaty thunk at the collision of wood and skull, then I stumble slightly, surprised as all sense of friction disappears and my bat is swinging through air. I open my eyes, gawking at the absence of a tiny body at my feet. In its place, on the asphalt, are a few hair scrunchies and a dog-eared comic book. Hooking my bat back to my belt, I pick the items up, sliding my backpack off enough to slip them in one of the front pockets. With my stomach still feeling like it's relocated to somewhere in my ribcage, I exit the alley and cross back over to the truck once the traffic allows.

  
Liam, Daisy and Woody are waiting by the truck, and the four of us quietly walk over to Murphy's. I catch sight of my reflection in the tinted windows of one of the Cadillacs, silently wondering what the others think of the savage, impassive creature that lives and travels with them. Walking faster to avoid any other reflective surfaces, I reach the door first, pulling it open and stepping into the uncomfortably quiet restaurant. An unfamiliar, Italian accented voice comes from behind the counter. "Sorry toots, Murphy's Deli is closed for the rest of the day."

Instead of Murphy, a suited, dark haired, deeply tanned man stands in front of the door to the kitchen. A brief glance around the restaurant tells me there's at least another dozen of similarly dressed men sitting in booths or standing around a corner table near the back. Several of Murphy's off duty cop buddies are nervously huddled at tables. The door opens behind me as Liam, Daisy and Woody enter the building, and I interrupt the Italian guy as he starts to repeat his spiel. "Mm, yeah. Unfortunately, Daisy over here gets really grumpy if his blood sugar gets too low, so he has to eat every three hours." I approach the counter, noting the man's hand as it subtly moves towards the inside of his suit jacket. "Where's Mr. Murphy?"

The Italian guy smiles, revealing a gold tooth. "He's busy, why don't you and your friends head over to the IHOP down the street?"

Liam comes around to my other side, grabbing a menu from the stack and sliding into one of the booths. "Nah," he replies. "This places has the best chocolate milk."

"Oh man, and the sausage gravy is the tits," adds Woody, grabbing another menu and joining Liam.

There's the sound of raised voices from the corner booth, and everyone's attention momentarily shifts.

"Mr. Murphy?" Daisy asks, moving in that direction.

Sniffing the air, recognizing Murphy's scent, buried under the reek of Drakkar Noir, I walk away from the counter, approaching the booth from the other side.

"That's none of your business, toots. You're going to get hurt if you don't get yourself and your friends out of here," the man behind the counter chides.

A pair of suited men slide out of their booths, blocking Daisy's way as he calls Murphy's name again. From the corner, Murphy's voice calls over the heads of the other Italians. "Daisy? Jaysus Christ, what are you keds doin' 'ere? I've got everythin' handled, you all don't need to worry about this."

I quickly move down the aisle, vaulting over a table and landing in front of the men with a growl. Their guns are out and pointed at me in an instant. A deep, silky voice from within the booth speaks up. "Easy fellas, don't be so rude to Murphy's friends. His friends are our friends, right Mr. Murphy?"

Tearing my gaze away from the armed men around me, I look over to Murphy. He sits, relatively casually, across from an older man with slicked back hair and a single diamond piercing his ear. A gun lays on the table between them, the handle slightly closer to the Italian man, the muzzle pointed towards Murphy. Nonetheless, he says, "It's ok, Maze. Patrizio and I are just talkin'."

Straightening out of my crouch, I stand my ground, staying in arms reach of the Italian, Patrizio, even as his guards back away. My right hand rests on the handle of my bat, and I lose track of their words as Murphy and Patrizio begin talking again. My senses hone in on the Italian's body language, the subtle increase of perspiration as he becomes agitated, the muscle that tautens along his jawline as each sentence he speaks is sharply clipped off at the end. The fur on the back of my neck rises slightly as the atmosphere in the restaurant changes. I'm slipping the leather loop off my bat with my thumb, holding it against Patrizio's greased head in a movement almost perfectly synchronized with the Italian, as he lifts the gun from the table and aims it at Murphy. I don't need to turn around to know there are at least a dozen guns pointed at either Murphy, Patrizio, or myself. My eyes stay fixed on Patrizio's index finger. I breathe shallowly, as to not disturb my concentration or the position of my bat. His knuckle creases slightly and I cock the bat back, swinging at his head with all my might. 

The room erupts into deafening gunfire, and I'm aware of the bloodflowers that bloom on the front of Murphy's apron before I notice the blazing agony along my back and shoulders. Coughing painfully, the air tasting like rust and salt, I step onto Patrizio's fallen body and spill into the booth next to Murphy. "Mr. Murphy," I frantically look over his rounded belly and chest. "are you ok?"

I'm dimly aware that the sound of shooting has ceased as Murphy turns to me. His expression is alert, responsive, and increasingly infuriated as he offhandedly comments, "Yer a stubborn one, aren't yeh?"

Reassured, I slide out of the booth as Murphy clambers out the other side. The floor is littered with corpses and broken glass, and the off duty cops wrestle the few Italian men not on the floor or speeding out of the parking lot into handcuffs. The guys rush over to me, Daisy tucking his gun back into his suit jacket, Liam still holding his at his side. Woody reaches out to move my arm, to get a better look at my wounds and I pull away. "I'm alright, I heal fast." I comment, feeling warm blood still running down my back, slowly soaking into the waistband of my pants. I watch as Murphy stalks into the kitchen, moving towards the front counter to try to see what he's doing.

"Maze, you were shot in the back," Woody says, following after me.

"I wouldn't," Liam warns. "You should see what she did to the last person that tried to force medical attention on her-"

There's a earsplitting shriek of agony from the kitchen, and with a grimace of pain, I climb over the counter, peering through the cook's window. I feel Liam, Daisy and Woody crowd in behind me. We watch, open mouthed, as Mr. Murphy presses the side of a man's face to the hot flat top grill. The man's skin pops and sizzles like a freshly cut pork chop, and the air fills with the aroma of seared flesh. Murphy is red cheeked, yelling over the man's own screams, his accent so thick I can't even discern the words. He slams the man's head against the grill, and a gold tooth is knocked out of his mouth, hitting the tiled floor and bouncing. One by one, the guys back away from the horrifying sight. As I step away from the window, I find myself feeling overwhelmingly fond of the furious Spring king. 

_temper like that, its a wonder murphy isnt summer court._

One of the cops, Officer O'Rourke, approaches us. "The four of you should probably leave the scene before investigators show up," he states, raising his brows for emphasis. "You probably weren't in this part of the city at all, in fact."

"Right," agrees Daisy, herding us towards the door. "Great day for sightseeing anyway."

"Uh," I say, walking out into the sunny parking lot, splattered in blood. 

Liam, rolling his eyes, pulls his hoody off and tosses it at me. "You need more than one pair of clothes."

Wincing, pulling the sweatshirt over my head, I shrug. "Yeah, 'pparently."

As we cross the parking lot, Woody asks, "Should you go to a hospital, or something?"

"Ew, no. I just need, like," I pause. "a nap."

Reaching the hotel, Daisy turns to Woody. "Can you take me to my office?" He pauses. "The office, whatever. Something Murphy said in there isn't sitting right, I need to-"

"Go talk to yourself?" Liam finishes.

"That," Daisy says, climbing into the passengers seat.

"I'll stay with Maze, make sure she doesn't die from blood loss," Liam says, following me as I start walking towards the hotel.

Making a face, I reply, "What the hell would you even do if did?"

Liam shrugs. "I dunno, feed you a small child or something."

At his casual, joking words, I'm assaulted with images of the small boy, the fetch, weeping, not knowing for sure what would happen once I smash my bat into him. I see Roots, thrown into the Pits as punishment, I remember what his stringy, rangy flesh tastes like. There's a hot, leaden gnawing in my gut that's not just guilt.

_its not just guilt because i still want it. my mouth still waters when i remember._

My sudden silence must have made Liam uncomfortable, because he asks: "Um, you alright?"

_not even fucking close._

"Yeah," I mumble, hoping he writes the strain in my voice off as exhaustion. "Gunshot wounds hurt," I add. "Think I might actually take a nap when we get back to the room." 

He nods, and the rest of the trek to our hotel room is silent.


	15. Chapter 15

New York City. Sept of 2000.

The shattered windows of Murphy's Deli are covered with plywood, but when I try the door, it opens. Murphy himself is standing by a table of tourists, going over the specials. I quietly walk to the counter and take my usual end seat, unobtrusively hunching over my leather journal. I'm a few pages in when a mug of hot tea is placed on the counter in front of me. "Thanks," I say, looking up at Murphy. "You're a lot less bloody and angry today," I casually comment.

Pulling a dingy rag from his apron, Murphy wipes at a spot of grease on the countertop before replying, "I'm sorry yeh had to see me like that,"

"Don't apologize, I'm planning on voting you in for Summer king next year," I reply, straight-faced. 

Murphy chuckles. "You and yer motley need to learn to keep outta trouble a little better, if yer plannin' on bein' around that long."

Sipping from my mug, I shrug my shoulders, wincing slightly at the soreness there. "Probably," I reply.

"Are yeh healin' up alright?" he asks, his expression doubtful when I nod. "I appreciate yeh standin' up for me like yeh did, foolhardy as it was." The table of tourists signal that they're ready to order, and Murphy pats my shoulder with a large hand before going to wait on the table. I grit my teeth so I don't flinch at the bolt of pain that goes through the bullet wound there, reminding myself to ask Liam or someone to check the area for any bullet fragments I may have missed.

I sit in the restaurant for another hour before I'm joined by a brooding and introspective Liam. Finishing what I was writing, I tie the strap around my journal and tuck it into my bookbag. I kick Liam's foot with my own. "What's wrong with you?"

Liam immediately answers, "Nothing."

I roll my eyes, sighing out the words "lying bitch" as I slide off my stool. "You want to go to the cigar shop with me?"

"Ugh," he grimaces, "why?"

"Check on Wane, make sure Lord Tyler didn't send any more goons to fuck with him." I gently slip my backpack over my shoulders. 

"Sure," Liam agrees, unenthused. 

I tuck a thank you note for Murphy under my mug, and Liam and I wave to him as we leave the boarded up restaurant. 

After a taxi ride that takes less than a quarter of the amount of time it took to hail the cab, we're at the cigar shop. Only a few motorcycles are parked out front, and I silently hope that means that there isn't a screaming group of humans inside. As we enter, the same heavyset man is at the counter. "Ay, it's you two," he greets us cordially. As we walk past him, towards the door that leads to downstairs, he adds, "I thought you'd be back, we need some more gutter punk types in here."

"Some fucking what-" I reply angrily, as Liam quickly pulls me through the door, into the dimly lit, raucous club area. Despite the fact that it's another day, another time, and likely different people, the atmosphere seems completely unchanged from our last visit. I take note, with some relief, that Wane is at least mostly dressed on stage. Liam and I skirt the edges of the throng, the both of us pausing when we hear our names screamed through the speakers. I groan aloud as Wane points a skinny finger in our direction.

"Those guys over there, those guys are the fucking best," Wane shouts, drawing forth a cheer from the crowd. 

Hands reach out to pull us into the mosh pit or embrace us or something. Shooting the people closest to him a death glare, Liam snaps, "Touch me and you'll draw back a stump."

I simply growl, baring my teeth at those around me as I hear Wane from on stage. "This next song is for Maze and Liam, it's called A Burning Fog," he pauses for a moment, "Beneath Melancholic Glory!" As he begins the melodic, incomprehensible screaming that passes for singing, Liam and I quickly move away from the crowd 

As we sit down at the bar, the human, the ensourceled one, greets us both. "That's a big deal," he comments, "Wane dedicating a song after y'all. Now all the groupies are gonna get jealous."

"Wane has groupies?" Liam asks, incredulous.

"Uh huh," answers the human.

_charon. his name is charon._

He points towards a cluster of scantily clad girls, all with similarly smeared makeup and unnaturally colored hair. "Hope he uses protection," quips Liam.

"Has shit been alright since the other night?" I ask Charon.

Charon nods. "Some guys came over and put in a new door, but no one else has bothered Wane. At least that he's said anything about."

Liam and I unenthusiastically sit through the rest of Wane's show. After performing his final song, Wane dives off the stage, allowing the crowd to toss his skinny body to and fro, finally planting him on his feet in front of the bar. "Hey, guys," he says in greeting, grabbing a bottle of beer from Charon and slinging a skinny, fishnet covered arm over my shoulders. "Thanks for coming to see the show."

"We didn't-" Liam coughs as I reach over and slap him in the chest.

"Yeah, no problem," I reply, rolling my eyes. "You doing good? Not like, running around the city naked and almost getting beaten down by ogres or anything?"

Wane grins, his thin lips stretching across his teeth. "Nah, I'm good, I'm good. Met the Winter chick, did all that shit." He nods his head to the faint music playing over the speakers. 

"No one else has been following you, right?" I ask.

"Oh yeah, that's still a thing," Wane replies, chugging from his beer bottle. Off my concerned look, he adds, "Turns out they're dead people, the ones that are following me around? It's some shit I can do." He takes another drink. "Seeing dead people, or whatever." He burps. 

"Ah." I wrinkle my nose, smelling the hops on Wane's breath. "I guess that's better than the alternative." I catch Liam lapsing into a thousand yard stare at his spot at the bar and I inwardly sigh.

Wane waves to someone, replying, "I'm getting used to it." He yells over his shoulder, "Ey, Scooby! Wa's good, man?" 

I slip out from under Wane's arm before he can drag me along to greet his friend. Leaning on the bar next to Liam, I poke his side to get his attention. "What's on your mind, Li?" For a moment, I think he's just going to shut me down again, then he pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and shows it to me. There's an address in Queens written in a cramped, but legible print. 

"I asked Daisy to get this from his fetch. It's apparently where me and my 'mom' were living for a while. O'Kirk thinks she might still be there," Liam states.

Raising my eyebrow, I ask, "This something you want to check out?"

Liam stares at the piece of paper for a moment, before putting it back in his pocket. "Yeah, I guess. It's all I've been thinking about since we went to that fucking office."

Nodding, I step away from the bar and gesture towards the exit. "Lets fucking get to it, then." As Liam rises from his chair, I add, "You've gotta pay for the taxi though, I'm tapped out until I pickpocket Daisy or something."

The cab drops us off in front of a shitty strip of rowhomes. Most of the houses have bars on the windows, and a few don't have windows at all. Liam frowns as he stares up at the decrepit building between number 12 and number 16. The concrete stairs are half caved in and the front door is off the hinges. A piece of plywood is haphazardly places in the doorframe, covered in graffiti. "Fuck," Liam mutters, checking and rechecking the address on the slip of paper.

Carefully stepping over the crumbling chunks of concrete, I climb up on the porch. "Well, fucking come on," I say over my shoulder, sliding the plywood aside enough for us to pass through. "Didn't come all the way out here to watch you brood." Reaching into my backpack for my flashlight, I step into the townhouse. The floor is covered in what used to be carpet, but now seems like mostly dirt and trash. A few ripped couch cushions are tossed in one corner, surrounded by discarded liquor bottles and cigarette butts. 

Liam steps through the doorway, glancing around the room with a grimace. Seeing nothing of interest, he heads upstairs. I follow behind him, training the flashlight beam on our feet. The first bedroom is empty save for a stained mattress. The second, smaller bedroom still has the decorative wallpaper marking it as a child's bedroom. A multicolored dresser with peeling paint lays on its side, half in half out of the closet. Liam walks over to it, pulling open each drawer and searching within. He reaches the bottom drawer and pulls a small, dog eared book from it. Glancing at the cover, he opens to the first page and stares inside for a few moments. Slamming the book shut, he tosses it back onto the dresser and leaves the room without a word. 

Curious, I walk over and retrieve the book. It's an obviously well loved copy of Charlotte's Web, by E.B. White. Turning to the first page, I see, in scrawled, childish handwriting: Property of : Ashton L. I slip the book into my bookbag before going back downstairs to find Liam.

Liam is in the kitchen, a large, brown spider in his hand, making a quiet clicking noise with his tongue and then holding the spider to his ear. After a few minutes of communication, he sets the spider down on the counter. "She's been gone for at least a year, but maybe a lot longer. Last time she was here there was snow on the ground." He watches the spider scuttle into the sink. "They're pretty limited when it comes to comprehending time frames." His expression is disappointed as he says, "C'mon, lets get out of here."

We leave the house, propping the plywood back over the doorframe. I glance around, but no one seems to be taking an exceptional interest in us. There's a homeless woman sitting on an upside down shopping cart a few houses up, a teenager that's probably got a bunch of spray paint in his backpack coming down the other sidewalk, and a olive skinned man in a wool overcoat taking a newspaper from one of the busted dispensers. Liam and I hop off the porch and start walking. "Now what," I ask.

"That was kind of the extent of my plan," Liam states, placing his hands in his pockets.

"Ok." I contemplate as we walk. "Alright. Let's find a phone booth." I pause. "Those are still a thing, right?"

"Yeah, they are, but why?" Liam asks. "You don't have anyone's number."

"I'll show ya when we get to one," I state.

We find a phone booth about two miles away. I step into the cramped space, reaching into the cubby under the phone with a triumphant look. 

Liam stares at the tome in my hand. "A phone book?"

"Fucking, yeah." I toss it at him. "Look up 'Lyonson'. There can't be that many in New York. If your fetch isn't listed, someone in your family probably is."

A glimmer of hope passes over Liam's expression, and he immediately begins flipping through the phone book. As he does, I take another look at our surrounding. Even more homeless people sit on street corners or lay under canopies at bus stops. 

_fucking empty houses everywhere, and yet people still have to live in the street like dogs._

My eyes pass by a man in a wool overcoat, then quickly snap back. Keeping my head moving, I stare from the corner of my eyes, confirming it's the same guy before nudging Liam with my elbow. "Hey, find the page you need and just tear it out, I wanna get moving again."

Flipping through more quickly, Liam asks, "What's up?"

"Pretty sure there's someone following us." I look the opposite direction of the man. "He was down by the townhouses where we were two miles back, and now he's here."

Carefully ripping a page from the book, Liam folds it and puts it in his pocket. "Alright, I'm good to go." He replaces the phone book, casually surveying the street behind us and asking in a low voice, "Wool overcoat?"

"Yup," I confirm, as we start walking again. "I'm going to head towards where more people are, see if he keeps following us." The sidewalk slowly becomes more populated as townhouses turn to corner shops and carry out restaurants. The man continues to follow at a steady, but persistent pace.

"We could always just fucking kill him," mutters Liam, as we pass a fenced in alleyway.

Though tempted, I grit my teeth and reply: "Not the best idea, since we don't know who he is, or why he's following us."

A voice comes from the alley, "Hey friends, looking for home base?" The gate shudders open slightly.

I glance back and see that the man's view of us is partially obscured by a food cart. Somewhat recklessly, I pull Liam into the alley. "Fuck it, I'll take my chances."

A young, long haired, homeless man dressed in dark layers places his finger to his lips and closes the gate behind us. He settles back down onto a beanbag chair, resting in between two refrigerator sized cardboard boxes. 

It's doesn't seem that cold until it's pouring rain at night in late autumn. I can't go to the shelters because the cops will find me there and find a reason to rough me up and kick me out. After what happened with Officer Benson, they don't want me there anyway. Can't sleep under the bus stops for the same reason. So I've got to use this cardboard that I swiped out of the dumpster to try to stay dry, and I've got to use this piss smelling coat to try to stay warm. Most of the night is spent huddled, shivering on a soggy, melted mass of paper, hoping the sun comes up soon so at least they'll be something to warm my skin.

I stare down at the man, unconsciously rubbing my arms, feeling the heat that now naturally radiates from my skin. Once the man suspects our pursuer has safely passed by, he holds out his hand and introduces himself as Manny. I take his cold hand in my warm one, squeezing it, passing brief warmth to him before releasing it. "I'm Maze, that's Liam. Thanks for helping us out, there."

"No problem," Manny responds. "Gotta watch yourself around here. Some people have got two faces, the water ain't safe and there's skulk demons 'round every corner."

"Oh yeah?" asks Liam. "Skulk demons?"

Manny peers at him slyly. "That's the only part that stood out for you?"

Narrowing his eyes, Liam responds, "Well, what the hell is a skulk demon?"

I interrupt, not unkindly. "Listen, we should probably get out of here, in case that guy doubles back. We don't want him connecting us to you and then starting shit on our account."

"That's thoughtful of you, Maze." Manny replies. "If you go out that way," he points down the other side of the alley, "it'll take you out to 73rd."

"Thanks," I say. Liam starts down the alley, but I swing my backpack around, opening the main compartment and pulling out a folded up parcel. I hand it to Manny. "Here, it's a rain poncho."

Manny smiles, taking the poncho. "Thank you, Maze."

_it would figure that the only humans i can stand to be around are the ones that "normal" society gave up on._

"Yeah," I reply, awkwardly, before quickly following Liam down the alley.

Shortly after, we're in the cab, crossing the East River when Liam pulls on my shirt. He point at something out his window, down in the water. I follow his line of sight just in time to see what looks like some massive shape that dives deep enough to disappear under the murk. The water ripples steadily for a few moments, before falling relatively still. "The hell was that?" Liam comments.

"Whale?" I answer. "Skulk demon?"

Liam sucks his teeth, pushing me back to my side of the seat with a roll of his eyes.

When we return to Manhattan, our hotel room is empty. Claiming one of the bedrooms, Liam wonders aloud, "Huh, wonder where flowerchild and the stick man went?"

I hold up a scrap of paper with the word "ill" on it, and a drawing of a daisy. "Either they both ended up at the hospital, or they went back to that sex club."

"Gross," replies Liam, closing the bedroom door.

Staring, somewhat forlornly, around the empty hotel room, I pull my tank top off and toss it into my pile of blankets. Laying on a spot of bare carpet, I begin doing sit ups, exhaling explosively as my healing wounds sing with pain. I switch to push ups, lunges, squats... until I can barely keep my eyes open. Dragging myself the few feet to my makeshift bed feels like walking a mile, and when I collapse onto the blankets, I'm asleep in seconds.

And it feels like only minutes later that I'm awoken by someone stumbling over, and then into my head. As I curse angrily, sitting up to look at the glowing microwave display, I see that it's been at least three hours. "Maze," I hear a voice slurring. "Maaze!"

I turn in the direction of the voice. "Fucking hell, Daisy. What?"

"Don't yell at me! Someone's in my bed..." he stumbles into something near the kitchen.

"Yeah, it's probably Liam or Woody. Just sleep on the fucking couch," I grumble, laying back down.

"I can't see," Daisy whines.

"The room is the size of a postage stamp, just feel your way around." I'm about to cover my ears with a pillow when the overhead light flashes on, temporarily blinding me. "What the FUCK, Daisy!"

Daisy stands by the light switch, shirt unbuttoned, a smug look on his face. "I told you I couldn't see." He begins to stumble his way to the couch, oblivious to the death glare I'm giving him. He approaches the couch, swaying slightly as he pulls the cushions off. He stacks them in a teetering pile, then grabs the loop to pull the sofa bed out. He yanks it once to no avail. The second time, he falls backwards, into the pile of cushions. With a meaty belch, he states, "this is fine," and begins struggling to take his shirt off.

With an overdramatic, long suffering sigh, I force myself from my nest and walk over to the couch. Daisy's digging in his pants as I lift the sofa bed extension out of the couch with ease. He's jabbering something about numbers as I fluff out the pillows and pull down the blanket. Turning to Daisy, I gesture to the bed. "Voila. A bed." 

He flaps his notebook at me. "The numbers don't add up. They don't... match." 

I grab the notebook, peering at it as I slip an arm around Daisy and lift him from the pile of cushions. It looks like some sort of accounting notes, or transactions, or a bunch of numbers I don't fucking understand. "I don't speak math too good," I remark, tossing the notebook onto the bed before dropping Daisy down next to it. He mumbles something that sounds like "swizzle stick" and I nod reassuringly as I pull the blankets over him. By the time I grab a water bottle from the mini fridge, he's already snoring. I place the water on the end table, and after a moment's thought, drag the trash can over as well. Flicking the light off, I cross the dark room and crawl back into my nest of blankets, eventually falling back asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

New York City. Sept of 2000.

Liam, who apparently got a full, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep, wakes everyone up at 8:00 AM sharp for breakfast. 

"You fuckin' prick-"

"Oh man, fuck off-"

"Fucking hell-" I angrily throw my blankets off, heaving a pillow at Liam's face as I get up. 

He catches it and tosses it back in my pile, peering at my back as I pass by him. "Damn, your shit is almost completely healed." 

"Yeah," I respond, digging into my backpack for a top. "I keep telling you all I heal fast." I pull a shirt on over my sports bra and look over at Daisy, who's splayed across the sofa bed, and Woody, who's only just now shuffling out of the bedroom. "Ya'll coming, or what?"

"Fuck off," Woody repeats, in a slightly friendlier tone than a few moments before.

Liam opens the door. "It's cool, if you're not down in twenty minutes, we're going to call in a bomb threat to the hotel."

I bark out laughter as we leave the room and head to Murphy's.

Liam and I seat ourselves, in the corner booth that just recently hosted a shootout. He's showing me a trick that he's pretty sure he's taught Charlotte to do, involving his hoodie strings and the ring from a soda cap, when Murphy limps up to the table. The former Spring king who walked away from a hail of gunfire mostly unscathed is covered in bruises and burns. His right eye sports a brilliant shiner, boasting more colors than a Nevada sunset. His lower lip is swollen and split in two.

"What the fuck?" asks Liam.

"WHO the fuck?" I growl.

Murphy mimes writing on a piece of paper, and I pull out my journal, ripping out a few blank pages for him. He takes a pen from his apron, writing for a moment before hand the paper to me and Liam. "Why can't you talk?" asks Liam. Murphy opens his mouth, showing us a blistered black crater where his tongue was. My fists clench as I look from him, to the paper, reading his note through a haze of red fury. Some assholes jumped me when I was dropping off a delivery.

"Were they human? Or like us?" I ask. Murphy point to himself, Liam and I. I follow up with, "Do you have any idea why?" Taking the paper back, Murphy writes some more, before sliding the paper across the table. Nary a fucking clue. They said they were Green Mountain Boys.

_the green mountain. oh my god. what if this is someone else the keeper is sending after us?_

Liam looks over at me, obviously having similar thoughts. Turning back to Murphy, he says, "The Green Mountain is where we came from. That's..." he trails off staring down at the table.

Murphy writes something down, showing it to Liam, then to me, tapping the writing for emphasis. Green Mountains in Vermont. Might not have anything to do with u all. I rub at my face. "Well, where were you when you got attacked? We can go check it out, see if we can figure out why the fuck they came after you."

"Let us know what they looked like, too. That way, if we run into them, we can kick the shit out of them and then bring em back here for the fucking griddle treatment." Liam adds.

I see Murphy start to write You don't have to and I reach across the table and shake the paper to mess him up. "We know we don't have to, but we fucking want to." Murphy looks at me and Liam, gives us a small, tired smile, then starts writing again. We're already scooting back out of the booth as Murphy hands back us the piece of paper. Trinity Lutheran in Lower Manhattan. I glance over Murphy's injuries again, passing the note to Liam. "Do you every consider taking like, a day off?" I ask, sympathetically. Murphy shakes his head, replacing his pen in his apron and heading back towards the kitchen. "At least put some ice on your face or something," I call, to his retreating form. "For the... swelling." Sighing, I walk out of the restaurant, joining Liam in the parking lot. He's stopped, staring at the note Murphy wrote. "What? What is it?" He hands the note to me. I read the location again, then flip the note over, squinting at Murphy's scribbled descriptions of his attackers.

3 guys. 1 was lean and fit. Poss in his 20's. Dirty blonde hair. Controlled fire. 2nd was older. Mop of brown hair. Bout the same size as Larry. Fists like bowling balls.

As I read the third description, my ears start to feel hot and my feet feel too far away all of the sudden.

3rd one was at least 7 foot tall. Gray skin, tusks like a boar, bristly black hair. Only had 1 arm but can punch just fine with the other 1.

I'm in a daze as Liam and I walk towards the truck. I can hear Daisy and Woody exiting the hotel, asking us something. I'm hoping Liam answers.

_trog attacked murphy? why? has trog gone rogue?_

Liam must have explained what's going on, because everyone's getting in the truck. I climb into the backseat, still holding the note.

_if theres people attacking monarchs lord tylers gonna want them dead. why the fuck would trog attack murphy? why would any of those guys attack murphy?_

Liam is showing Woody and Daisy the notes describing Murphy's problem. He doesn't mention Trog.

_if this is gonna be a fight..._

I feel like my lungs are full of cotton. The air in the truck feels too dense, somehow.

_ive taken trog out before._

Woody parks the truck outside the cemetery. "Well uh, are we just Scooby Gang-ing this, ooor..."

As we climb out of the cab, Liam looks at me. I fold the last note into a tiny square and tuck it into my pocket. "Yeah. See if you see anything," I pause. "weird." Daisy and Woody are both looking at strangely, so I turn away and enter the cemetery. 

Liam quickly catches up with me, walking in silence for a moment before quietly asking, "What's your plan?"

Scowling, I whisper back, "Am I supposed to have one?"

"Forewarned is forearmed. Don't you think it's better for them if they know who they're looking for?" 

"I'll do what I gotta do, if I've got to do it," I snap.

Liam studies my face for a moment, before replying, "Alright." He doesn't question me further.

We hear a sharp whistle from over by the church, and look over to see Woody gesturing for us to head over there. When we arrive, he leads us over to Daisy, who's peering into a small, recessed basement window. "Let Maze look," Woody whispers, "her eyes are better." I squat down, peering through the dirty glass. There's movement in one of the inner rooms, and I can just barely see by the interior lights. I strain my eyes, my head aching with the effort. 

"There's at least two people. One is definitely not human," stepping away from the window, I rub my eyes. 

When I pull my hands away, Liam is staring at me, his eyebrow raised. I give a minute shake of my head and he nods. "Let's go in," states, retrieving his gun from his waistband. 

Daisy pulls out his gun as well, looking at Woody, who stands empty handed. "Still feel good about being a pacifist?" he quips.

I sigh and start towards the entrance. "I'll watch your back," I state, passing by Woody.

Entering the church, I lead us straight into the basement. The group as a whole moves quietly, but if any of the figures I saw have hearing as good as mine, they know we're coming. My suspicion is confirmed as the dark hallway we creep down is suddenly flooded with light.

"Ah, there's four of them. Sounded like three, I was close," says a man with large, tufted, lynx ears, dressed in a long black robe with a white roman collar.

A tiny woman with iridescent skin and overlarge, compound eyes casually swings an iron chain from her gloved hands. "Sounded like a herd of cattle," she chides, as a third man with hooves and ram horns steps out from a side room. The horned man has a rifle strapped across his chest that he casually rests his hand against.

I unconsciously step forward, making sure that Woody is shielded by my body, and that I would be the first target in the line of fire. Daisy speaks up from somewhere to my back left, "Hey, there. We're looking for some folks that one of our friends ran into last night."

The man with lynx ears responds, "Maybe we can help you find them."

Liam, from my right, says, "They call themselves the 'Green Mountain Boys'."

Smiling, the man with lynx ears responds, "Well, we're Green Mountain Boys."

"Is that girl a boy?" I counter.

"Yes," the girl holding the chain retorts.

Gritting my teeth, I place my hand over the handle of my bat and state, "You're not the ones we're looking for. The ones we're looking for attacked our friend Murphy. We're trying to figure out why,"

"And show them why that's not a great idea," Woody adds. I internally cringe.

"Who attacked your friend, then? Murray, was his name?" pipes up the ram horned man, smirking.

Growling slightly, I recite the descriptions of the two changelings I don't know. I feel Daisy and Woody shifting their attention to me, even before I add the last detail. "The other guy is a one armed troll, named Trog." I hear someone mutter and expletive behind me as I continue with, "He's a friend of mine."

"You have a lot of friends," comments the lynx eared man.

"Not really," I respond. "Makes it pretty frustrating when I find out one of them tried to kill another one of em for no damned reason."

The man narrows his eyes. "Did you ask Trog if he had a reason?" 

Tilting my head back, I run my hand through my dreads and sigh loudly. "Would if I fucking could. We haven't seen him since he fell out of the back of the truck." 

I mumble something about Woody's asshole driving as the lynx eared man seems to contemplate. "So, you were the guys Trog came into the city with." He nods, as if confirming his own words. "Alright." turning to the woman with the iron chain, he comments, "Probably won't need that, Lexi." 

The girl looks disappointed, actually stomping her foot in anger. "Fuck! Why don't I ever get the fun missions?" She stalks off into one of the other rooms. 

The man shakes his head and looks back at me. "I'm Benedict. That was Lexi." He cocks his thumb towards the ram horned man, who leans against a wall and nods in greeting. "That's Quinn."

"I'm Maze," I announce. Gesturing broadly behind me, knowing Benedict will likely figure out who's who, I continue, "Liam, Daisy, Woody."

Daisy steps up next to me, shooting me a side eye before asking Benedict, "So, why did your 'boys' attack Mr. Murphy?"

Benedict's ears twitch angrily. "/Your/ boy was seen consorting with true fae."

"What?" Woody comes forward as well. "That's a hell of a fucking accusation."

"What's your fucking proof," asks Liam.

"Ethan has the photos," replies Benedict, and my stomach drops.

_murphy was dealing with the gentry? theres no way._

"No," I respond, glaring at Benedict. "Murphy wouldn't do that."

Benedict meets my gaze, unwaveringly. "Sounds like you need better friends." He looks around the others. "People have been getting taken in the city. There's one woman specifically-"

"We know," interjects Daisy, "she took a kid. We chased her down, but she was already going through the hedge. Left the fetch sitting by a fucking dumpster."

"Where is it now?" Benedict asks. "The fetch?"

"Killed it," I reply, drawing Benedict's gaze once more. "The thing burst like a piñata."

"Damn," comments Quinn from his spot against the wall.

I glance at him, trying to discern the tone of his remark, before turning back to Benedict. An idea crosses my mind and I ask, "When were they taken? The pictures of Murphy, I mean." 

Contemplating for a moment, Benedict replies, "Two nights ago."

"Two nights ago," Liam starts, "Murphy was at his deli, getting shot up by a bunch of Italian mobsters." 

Woody gestures to me. "We were there with him. Maze still has the bullet holes."

"Actually, they're pretty healed up now," I reply. "Not the point, though. How the fuck could Murphy be meeting with some true fae if he was with us?"

"Huh," is all Benedict responds.

"Yeah?" My lip lifts slightly, baring my teeth as I continue. "So, now we've got /your/ boys attacking a monarch under false pretenses or whatever. Now, we're going to have the Autumn king calling for Trog's head for beating the shit out of the former Spring king. The fuck are we gonna do about that?"

"I'm still more concerned about who's dragging people off the streets into Arcadia. As far as your Autumn king, fuck him." Benedict straightens his robe. "Fuck him to death."

"You know," Woody starts. "I'm starting to think you're not really a priest."

"We're just as pissed about true fae in the city as you are, we're just also pissed that someone is apparently aware of the fact and is using it to try to throw Mr. Murphy under the bus," Daisy says.

I rub my face, exasperated. "I need to talk to Trog." Looking around the room, I correct myself. "We need to talk to the guys that attacked Murphy, to get everything straightened out."

Benedict shakes his head. "They're on a mission." He adds, "I'm also not sending boys into a fucking ambush."

"We won't start shit if they don't start shit," comments Liam.

"Liam's right." I state. "We can explain the... misunderstanding to Murphy. We can meet on neutral grounds." 

Studying Liam and I's expression, Benedict replies, "I'll ask Trog and Ethan what they want to do when they get back." Off my scowl, he adds: "We'll call you and let you know what's what."

Daisy replies: "Fine." He writes the hotel number on the edge of one of Murphy's notes and tears the scrap off, handing it to Benedict. "C'mon, Maze," he grumbles, sensing that I'm about to protest.

When we get back to the truck, I kick the back of Daisy's seat in frustration. "We have to have sit around and wait for a fucking phone call? What the fuck!"

"What else are we going to do, Maze?" Daisy asks, sighing.

"I don't fucking know," I snap. "Something more useful than waiting."

Woody eases the truck away from the curb, commenting, "It does seem weird just sitting around, knowing that someone might be running around New York wearing Murphy's face." I gesture to Woody, pointedly staring in Daisy's direction.

"Short of scouring the city bottom to top, how would we find them anyway?" Liam asks. "That's assuming they still look like Murphy. If it's like, a fucking shapeshifter, it could be anyone."

_a shapeshifter. tanya made herself look like larry that one night, to get chad to work for her. fuck._

I stare out of the window, grinding my teeth as I contemplate.

_we should go ask tanya if she knows anything but that might mean missing benedicts phone call._

"Li's right, I guess." I hate myself a little as I continue. "We're kind of at a stalemate, or whatever. Probably should just go back to the hotel." Furrowing my brow, I rest my head against the window and ignore the rest of the discussion.

I know my pacing is annoying the guys. I also know that none of them dare to say anything about it. My eyes keep straying to the beige phone that sits, offensively silent, on the end table. 

_what if father fuck em to death was just bullshitting us? what if something happened to trog? what if he DID something to trog? why did i agree to a fucking PHONE CALL?_

The phone rings once, then falls silent. I stop pacing, staring at it, realizing that I can't remember the last time I answered a telephone. It rings again, and I hear Daisy start to say, "Are you going-"

I pick up the receiver and slam it against my ear, my stomach in knots. "H'lo?"

_what if its godwin what if its that man that was following liam and me what if_

"Hi, Maze." 

The knot in my gut loosens. 

"Hey, Trog."


	17. Chapter 17

New York City. Sept of 2000.

"I guess we shouldn't expect them to steck to any sort o' schedule here. S'not like I got a bus'ness to run or anything," Murphy gripes, with his recently healed mouth. His scowl rivals mine as we stand in the restaurant parking lot, waiting for Trog and the Green Mountain Boys to meet us. Though the swelling has gone down some, Murphy's face is still a myriad of cuts and bruises. I stare at the ground, only glancing up when I hear an approaching car, unable to quell the guilty feeling I get from looking at him. Daisy and Woody sit on the tailgate of the truck, passing Woody's flask back and forth. Liam leans against the side of the deli, trying to spin a knife in his hand and frequently dropping it.

Almost a half hour passes, and an SUV pulls into the parking lot. Everyone looks towards the vehicle as it parks in one of the farthest rows and two figures step out. One of the figures, though swathed in a hooded jacket that covers his face, is unmistakably seven feet tall and one armed. I take a couple of steps forward, barely noticing the other figure as I watch Trog approach.

"Christ. If you had a tail, it'd be fucking wagging," Liam mumbles under his breath, moving up to stand next to me.

Glaring over at him, I retort, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" as I place my hand over the top of my bat. The pair of changelings reach the truck, and I finally spare a glance to the smaller man. He's lean and attractive, with dirty blonde hair. "Are you Ethan?" I ask.

The man nods once. "You're Maze," he confirms, before looking over to Murphy. "Benedict tells me we might have had a case of mistaken identity."

"Yeah, someone is going all Invasion of the Body Snatchers," Woody comments from the truck bed.

"You're probably thinking of Mimic," corrects Daisy.

Murphy hawks and spits on the pavement. "Wouldn't it've been wonderful if you'dve confirmed who the fuck you were beatin' on before yeh fuckin' ded it?"

"It's not our fault if people in your city are trying to frame you as a loyalist. That sounds a lot like a 'you' problem," responds Trog.

Shooting Trog a sharp look, I state, "If you suspect a monarch is working with the true fae, you don't just go try to kill him without asking questions. There's a..." I pause. "There's a fucking process!"

"Is that what you would do, Maze?" Trog replies, a knowing smile on his face. 

I growl in response. Ethan states, "We don't follow court rules. There's no time for politics with what we do."

"Yeah, I got that impression from Father Fuck Em' to Death." I say.

"What do the Green Mountain Boys do?" Liam asks. "Other than beat up monarchs for no fucking reason," he adds.

"A lot," replies Ethan. "We hunt loyalists, like whoever is helping true fae snatch people right out from under your monarch's noses." He stares pointedly at Murphy.

"Boyo, if yeh want t'go another round," Murphy responds, taking a step towards Ethan. 

Liam and I move in between Murphy, Ethan and Trog. From the truck, Daisy pipes up, "Isn't there a bigger picture we're all supposed to be focusing on?"

I stare up at Trog, eyebrows raised. "Daisy's right," Trog finally says. "If there's someone who can change their features, they're probably going to do it again. We'll need to stick around the city for a bit."

There's a sense of relief that goes through me, like I'm exhaling a breath I didn't know I was holding. From behind me, I hear Murphy say, "Well, thas wonderful. You all know where t'find me if yeh need me." I feel a light breeze as he turns and walks into the restaurant. A moment later I hear the faint sound of something crashing in the kitchen.

"It would be great," I start, "if you guys would /not/ beat up Murphy anymore. It puts him in a really bad mood."

"Sucks to be him," replies Ethan. I give Liam a dirty look as he laughs. "Do any of you know of any Lost or goblins that can shapeshift, or mimic someone else's appearance?"

Liam, Daisy and Woody all shake their heads. "Yeah," I respond. "A girl in my court. Tanya." Off the surprised looks from the others, I continue. "I don't know why she'd do anything to fuck with Murphy, though."

"Might not be her choice," Trog says. "Could be your King or Queen, or whatever."

I snort, and Daisy, also laughing, replies, "Larry isn't capable of that kind of complex thinking."

"Still worth checking out," Ethan comments. "I can take this information back to Benedict, at least. See what he wants us to do."

"We can help look into shit too," Liam adds, looking at Ethan. As Daisy gives him a dirty look, he adds, "Well, Maze and I can."

"We'll see," Ethan responds, and I catch Liam's frown. Ethan turns to Trog. "You staying here?"

Trying to sound casual, I mention, "We've got a hotel room."

_itd be nice to not have to sleep alone. itd be nice to just have trog around again._

Looking at me, then back at Ethan, Trog replies, "Yeah, I'll stick around."

Ethan nods. "You've got my cell number if you find out anything." As he walks back to his car, I watch Liam's eyes casually following his progress. 

Woody, climbing out of the truck bed, slaps Trog on the back. "Hey man, sorry about the whole - you falling out of the truck - thing. We were starting to think we weren't going to get you back."

Trog chuckles. "It's all good. Everything ended up working out."

As they talk, I sidle up next to Liam, watching him watch Ethan's car pull out of the lot. Speaking in a low, teasing voice, I comment, "Wow, if you had a tail, it'd be fucking wagging." He elbows me, I elbow him back. He punches my shoulder and I punch his side. We continue casually wailing on one another as we follow the others up to the hotel room.

A loud snort in my ear causes me to wake with a gasp. I catch my breath and quickly gain my bearings, remembering that Trog is sharing the nest of blankets with me. Rubbing my cheek against his chest, I close my eyes and try to fall back asleep. A car alarm starts to bray from the parking lot outside, drilling into my ears despite the distance between the room and the lot. I grumble lightly, fidgeting under Trog's arm, partially hoping he'll wake up, too. After a few minutes, I give up and wriggle out from his embrace. 

_it figures. finally get him back and i cant fucking sleep and he wont wake up. maybe ill go to murphys._

Grabbing my backpack in the dark, I dig out a bag of jerky and a bottle of water, setting it on the floor next to Trog in case he wakes up before I get back. I slip the bag onto my shoulders and hook my bat onto my belt. Moving silently, I sneak out of the room. Walking slowly past the elevator, I take note of the hideous geometric design on the carpet, and the strange neo-classical artwork dotting the walls. One of the pieces stands out, an almost sloppy oil painting that simply states "GOD IS LOVE". The words stick in my head as I pull the door open to enter the staircase.

The stairwell itself reeks of cigarettes and some sort of chemical. I wrinkle my nose, starting downwards at a brisk pace. The stairwell grows faintly smoky, more so as I descend. A light above starts to blink as it burns out, and I curse to myself, retrieving my flashlight and shining the beam at my feet. Pulling the neck of my shirt over my mouth and nose, I look up into the smog as I hear someone cough. There's the faintest outline of a figure lower down on the stairs. "Oh, shit. Hey," the figure states in a robust and familiar voice.

"Uh, hey," I respond, recognizing Wane's voice, my own voice muffled by my shirt. "Are you trying to burn the building down?"

"Probably a good idea, yeah." Wane's words echo in the stairwell, seeming to build and crescendo as they form.

Continuing to move towards him, I reply, "Well, I'm kinda staying here, so maybe shelf that idea for a little bit." Suddenly, I walk right into Wane, clashing with his thin, frail body. "Shit!" I grab his shoulders to keep from barreling him over.

Wane stumbles slightly, but regains his balance quickly. A small light in the smoke falls from where his hand should be, hitting the ground with a spark. "You okay, Maze? You're not drunk, are you?"

"Not drunk, but it's smoky as shit in here if you didn't notice." I squint, still trying to see through the haze.

"Is it? I can see just fine." His voice pulses in the smoke, parting and manipulating the shape of it.

_what the fuck is going on?_

"Why are you sneaking out so late?" He asks, retrieving the spark from the ground.

"I didn't realize that 'late' was a concept in the city." I cough into my shirt. "Couldn't sleep," I add.

"Want to get some shit? You know, grab dinner for the show?" Wane also coughs as he brings a lit cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply.

I shrug. "Yeah, sure. You can lead the way since you can see through this shit."

"Cool," he replies, his voice still parting the smoke. "Take a drag with me, first. You look like you need it."

"I look like I need it? Thanks, you look like shit too." I bark out a short laugh that turns into a cough. "I don't smoke, anyway.

"Suit yourself hombré." Wane opens the exit door with a flourish and the smog immediately sucks out into the night air, as if into a vacuum.

Escaping from the stairwell, I pull my shirt from my face and take a deep breath of the acrid city air. "Not much better smelling out here." As I look upwards, the sky is remarkably clear. Each star in the nebulas of space seem to shine out with an amazing clarity. "Where," I start, still staring at the sky. "did all that come from?" I glance over to Wane. "I didn't think there was actually sky in the city."

Wane takes a final drag from his cigarette, before dropping it onto the ground and stepping on it. With a shrug, he replies, "Maybe you're just getting better at seeing. Its nice to be better looking, right?" He snorts.

Considering his words, I nod. "Must be all the red meat. Good for the eyes, makes you easy on the eyes... something like that." I raise my eyebrow and smirk at Wane. "You look like a vegetarian."

"You're not fucking wrong. Shit, most of my diet is grass and lettuce. More recently, fucking cabbage." He gags as he approaches a dirty and dusty Camaro. "Someone needs to tell that Irish guy to stop putting pig fat in the cabbage."

Scoffing, I reply, "No wonder you're so fucking skinny." I give a light poke to his ribs. "You're eating what food eats."

Wane lifts his shirt, revealing bluish white skin that clings tightly to his ribs and guts. "Who're you telling? Feel this shit, it's insane."

I run my finger down his sternum. "You look like food. You need some damned meat." 

He sits back on the hood of the car. "Hell no. My skinny ass is the only thing keeping hounds like you from eating me alive. Shit, I'm not really worth the effort if I stay this small."

"That's what you think." I laugh. "Maybe you're an acquired taste, or like, a fucking appetizer." Staring back up at the sky, I watch the other galaxies as they start to swirl with a slow, but visible movement.

_what the FUCK is going on?_

"Am I fucking high?"

Wane shrugs. "Are you seeing beauty and revelry in the world?"

"I mean, I guess?" I force my attention back to Wane. "I feel like I'd have to be high to see beauty in this shit hole."

"I mean, you did get hotboxed in a tight stairwell for like, ten minutes." He smiles and unlocks the car doors with a small beeping switch. "Lets get the fuck out of here and grab some dinner."

"Yeah, right. Food." Almost cracking my head on the roof of the low sitting car, I settle into the passenger seat and ask, "What uh, what the fuck is hot boxing?"

Wane slides easily into the driver's seat and starts the car. Over the roar of the engine, he shouts, "You know how smoking is just huffing smoke? Hot boxing is just filling a whole fucking place with the shit so you're smoking even when your mouth isn't on the color-coated-cancer-stick." 

As I listen to Wane speak, the dials on the dashboard start moving in random and unpredictable ways. The numbers on the clock radio break apart, reconnecting to form a perfect rectangle that spins in the small backlit screen. "Oh, right," I reply, confused. "That makes sense." Blinking, I turn to Wane. "What uh, the fuck were you smoking?"

"D.I.Y. shit. I call'em 'Bones.' I fucking love 'em. Gets my throat all nice and loose for the shows. Shit's great." As he pulls out of his cockeyed parking space, he admits, "Honestly, I'd rather be singing right now."

I continue staring at Wane, hesitant to look anywhere else. "I heard it's good to do other shit sometimes. Like eat, sleep. Shit like that."

He doesn't answer. His thin lips pop loudly in some awkward, nervous tick as Wane pulls out onto the freeway. "You like stew?" he asks, randomly.

"Depends on the stew. Probably wouldn't fuck with like, cabbage stew."

Wane's melodic, almost rhythmic laughter fills the car and mingles with the sound of the engine. "So, before we get there," he asks with an air of timidity, "You mind if I ask a dumb question?"

"Go for it," I reply.

"I got told that you and Liam, you saved my life." He pauses. "Why?"

"That's kind of a stretch, none of us like, took a bullet or anything." I shift in the seat, trying to stretch my cramped legs. "Seemed like a fucking dumb thing to be killed for, anyway."

"Yeah, but it would have worked if you all hadn't been there." He sighs and turns on the radio. 

"Would you have rather died?" I ask, quickly snapping the radio off. "Could we keep that off?"

"Sure, that's cool. Nothing good anyway." Stopping at a red light, Wane stares over at me. "You alright? You're not freaking out, are you?"

_that was a real distinct subject change._

I stare back at him. "Should I be? I don't freak out easily."

Wane nods thoughtfully and merely states, "good," without further explanation. 

Within a few blocks, we pull up beside a small business called, "Stu's Stew." I snort at the name. "Catchy."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure heavy sorry part or even. They too can eight true." Wane opens the door and breathes deeply of the polluted city air before sarcastically noting: "Net how just seem rust."

I stare blankly at Wane as he talks. "If this is what being high is, it's really fucking annoying," I comment frowning at the dashboard.

Wane smacks the hood of the car and beckons towards me. "You good, woman? Get your tall ass out here and let's slurp some of Stu's broth."

I shake my head, ungainly climbing out of the Camaro. "Yeah, I'm alright. The walls aren't melting or anything so I guess that's good."

"You've been watching too much Reefer Madness." He laughs again, voice alternating in tone and timbre to match the honking of nearby cars.

Cocking my head to the side, I ask, "Too much what?"

"It was some propaganda film about drugs, probably before your time." Wane opens the door for me with a slight flourish of his hands.

Pausing, I walk through the door, shooting Wane a weird look. "I don't really know what my 'time' is." The inside of the restaurant is like some sort of micro-carnival. Bowls of various size and color travel around the large dining area on rotating belts that go up walls and upside down on the roof. "Huh, this is cheery as fuck." I sniff the air as I look around. The air is thick with the scent of meats and vegetables, almost steamy from the dozens of bowls of broth traveling back and forth. Many bowls follow a track that take them upside down, though not a drop of liquid spills on the diners below.

Wane smiles, seeming far more confident and comfortable in this atmosphere. We walk to a set of stools at an odd bar that intersects the traveling bowls. "Wa's good, Bark?" he says in greeting to a monstrous looking tree-thing with many eyes set atop long stalks of bundled branches.

The tree creature, Bark, replies, "All is fine, friend of mine. Are you high right now? Your eyes got a shine."

Studying the tree creature, I comment, "Huh. Alright." With a glance at Wane, I ask, "Am /I/ high?" before turning back to Bark. "No offense, honestly."

The creature called Bark uses its long bundles of vines and wood with eyes to lift and place two bowls for Wane and I "That depends, my friend. Do I appear as branches with twists and bends?" 

I nod. "One hundred percent yeah."

Wane laughs before slurping down a large amount of broth from his bowl. "Good," he says between gulps. "That's 100% what the fuck it is."

"Oh ok, good." I look down at the bowl, breathing in the aroma of seasoned beef broth. "I'm Mazikeen. Maze. Whatever. One syllable names are the cool thing, I guess." Bark gives me a lurching bow in greeting.

Wane points at Bark with his pinky and states, "Best cook in New York, no shit. Well, sorta. I don't know if this counts as New York."

"I don't usually eat food in liquid form, but hell, I'll try anything maybe." I pick up my bowl, lapping lightly at the liquid before quickly drinking down the delicious broth.

Wane finishes his bowl and grabs another from the conveyer belt. "So, Bark," he asks the odd cook, "You still got that spare room? A few rats got into my place and I might need to get scarce."

Wiping my mouth, I give Wane a sharp look. "Are the king's assholes still fucking with you?"

"Yes and no. Not the same, uh- monarch," Wane replies after licking his lips. "But yeah, Bark, you got that room?" 

Bark shakes himself. "No, I don't have it anymore. You'll have to hide behind a different door."

"Whoa whoa whoa, you wanna do an explain here?" I turn in my seat, staring at Wane expectantly. "Who's fucking with you?"

"Nobody, I just don't feel exactly safe with all the attention these last few days. You know, too much bull shit. Bark, you know what I'm saying?" Wane gestures to Bark, who doesn't respond. Instead, he just fills more bowls from a deep brown pool in the floor.

I narrow my eyes at Wane. "Fuckin' question dodging ass motherfucker." I mumble, shaking my head and leaning an elbow on the counter.

"I know, fucking Bark won't talk a damn thing about the shit out there. Seriously, though, I'm good. Just did some shit for the folks in charge, and I'm really hoping not to get asked for any more shit." Wane finishes his third bowl, then relaxes into the stool.

"Whatever. You're a grown ass man so I'm not gonna twist your arm. You're pretty alright though, so try not to get fucking killed." Despite my concern, I tuck into another bowl of broth, watching Bark as he shuffles his small form up to the counter. He collects empty bowls with his long, eye-tipped bundles, depositing them into a wide mouth at the center of his trunk. "That's handy," I comment. Bark bows appreciatively and jumps off the counter, waddling away towards the door. I look over at Wane. "He doesn't talk much, does he?"

"I think its a goblin thing. Not sure they view courtesy and talking like we do. Still, this is pretty much the only place the fuckers don't follow me, so he can be silent for all I fucking care." Wane offers another one of his weird cigarette to me. "Here, it'll help."

Pushing Wane's offered hand back, I respond, "That's a hard pass. I like having my wits about me, or whatever. But uh, thanks?"

"Your loss. Helps me deal with being on the other side, you know? Shit makes more sense." He lights the dried stick and puffs deeply.

A couple sits down at the other end of the counter. I glance over that way and see Father Fuck 'Em to Death and a portly human woman settling into their bowls of stew. "Huh." Raising my voice slightly, I call over, "Hey, Benedict." Benedict looks over and gives me a nod, quickly turning his attention to the woman at his side.

Wade doesn't look over, but shakes his head. "Poor dumb bitch," he mumbles.

I let out a short bark of laughter. "Which one?"

"The fat girl. The last one didn't last long." Although Wane keeps his voice low, Benedict's tufted ears twitch and I know he's likely listening to our conversation.

Shrugging I make no attempt to lower my voice. "So? What's he do with them? Fuck them to death or something?"

"No clue, but they seem to like it while it lasts." Wane turns to Benedict and gives a respectfully sheepish nod. Turning back to me, he continues, "This is what I mean about predators. Some of you take it a little far."

"Ha, you're cute when you're all timid." Realizing that I'm proving his point, I ask, "Well, what do you mean too far? Would you say that same shit to like, a lion when he's taking down an antelope?"

"I don't know, maybe? Do they have a choice?" Wane nods to himself, allowing his voice to travel farther. "People like that like to say that they're badass alphas, but none of it has a fucking point. They're just sadists." 

"Sometimes it has a point, just 'cause you can't see it doesn't mean it's irrelevant." I tilt my head back, contemplating. "Yeah, so, if you waltz into a place saying your king shit without anything to back it up, then fuck you. But if you've earned it? Through blood, sweat, through whatever? Yeah. Claim whatever title you want. It ain't your fault that there are people that are weaker than you."

"You sure you're not some spy from overseas? That's sounds exactly like those big German propaganda videos they make fun of on the news." Wane shrugs. "I'm not gonna be king anything, so I'm not really big on any of that shit."

"Wait." I stare at Wane. "Are you insinuating that I'm a fucking Nazi?" I laugh. Actually laugh, shaking my head at him.

"I don't know, maybe I should interrogate you and find out." He grins, his expression mischievous.

Raising my eyebrows, I smirk at Wane. "Yeah? I'd like to see you try. I don't think you'd know what to do." 

With a surprising and respectable speed, Wane slips off his stool and grabs a handful of my dreads, holding them tightly to the back of my neck. "Don't tempt me, I'm a fucking dangerous man."

_well. lookit this turn of events. here i was thinking wane was just a kitten._

My voice rough with hunger, I respond, "Consider yourself fucking tempted, boy." I bare my teeth in a grin. Returning the grin, Wane's skin ripples and begins to change both color and size. His form gets taller, his brow thickens and grows coarse hair, and his shoulders pulse out to nearly half the size. Now incredibly bear-like in appearance, he growls against my ear.

_sonofabitch. FUCK. the boy can fucking shapeshift? fuck fuck fuck._

"This is a surprise," I comment, glancing around the room to ensure no one else is paying attention to us. Bark seems to notice, but doesn't comment.

_this is big. this is important._

Wane nips at my neck and growls lightly, "Is this the sort of shit you like? Big men with big teeth?"

Licking my lips, I reply, "It's high up on my list." I breathe in his scent, hungrily. "You got any other tricks? What if I prefer polar bears?"

_i need to stop. i need to ask him about the shit. the...shapeshifting._

"Then you can go to the North Pole. If you don't feel like catching a flight, I'll have to do." His hand, nearly trembling, grasp my hair with visible effort.

_I NEED TO_

"Don't use up all your energy," I whisper as I slide off the stool, pressing my body against his. I grab Wane's arm, my strength still superior despite his change in physique. My mouth meets his, somewhere between a kiss and a bite. "Take me somewhere," I growl, and he rushes the two of us out a side door, out into a wooden area, where I briefly forget all the important things I should be doing.


	18. Chapter 18

New York City. Sept of 2000.

When I get back to the hotel room, Trog is still asleep in my makeshift bed on the floor. I strip down and jump in the shower for just long enough to rid myself of the stink of cigarette smoke and whatever the hell else it was that Wane was smoking. After drying off, I burrow into the blankets and tuck my body against Trog's.

_at least hes still here. at least thats one less disappointment for the night._

When I wake up in the morning, I'm alone in my nest. The bottle of water and bag of jerky are gone, and so is Trog. Sighing, I hear Daisy's voice, agitated, coming through from one of the bedrooms. Liam, sitting up on the sofa bed, yawns and says, "He's been on the phone since I woke up."

"Jesus," I look at the clock, "with who?" Liam shrugs in response. 

Woody comes out of the other bedroom, making a beeline for the coffeemaker. He turns it on, fills it with water, then notices the empty coffee bag. Resting his head against the cabinet, he mumbles, "There is no god."

Liam, unabashed, retrieves his mug of coffee from the end table, sipping it delicately. 

After a few minutes, Daisy leaves his room, his expression livid. "I need to go upstate," he says, looking at Woody.

"Alright," Woody replies, studying Daisy's face. "Is this a group expedition, or?"

Liam and I climb to our feet, even before Daisy replies, "Might be a good idea." 

Woody awkwardly looks away as the both of us get dressed. Liam, tucking his gun into his waistband, states, "Just let us know what you need us to do."

The drive to Lincoln Park is quiet and uneventful, everyone seeming to be stuck in their own thoughts. I fight the urge to gripe about having to go talk to Daisy's fetch, with the overabundance of other shit on our plates right now. The memory of my escapade last night humbles me enough to hold my tongue. 

The building is the same, with the same out of place palm trees planted behind locked gates. The same vapid receptionist is at the same desk, but this time Daisy simply walks past her and heads straight to the elevators. Her bright smile seems to dim a few watts as she watches Woody, Liam and I trail in after Daisy, but she doesn't say anything. The same fucking Muzak plays as the elevator takes us up to the fetch's, or Daisy's, office.

When the doors open and deposit us on the correct floor, Daisy marches into the office. The fetch, O'Kirk, doesn't greet us, instead, he's sitting at a desk, a corded phone to his ear. He continues talking, even as he turns to look at his visitors with a confused expression. The confusion quickly turns to alarm as Daisy crosses the room, ripping the phone from O'Kirk's hand and smashing it across his face. "What-" the fetch starts, before Daisy hits him again. O'Kirk pushes his chair back, shielding his face with his hands. "Daisy, what the fuck?!"

Woody, Liam and I watch with different levels of shock. As Daisy yanks the phone from the desk and throws it against the wall, Liam and I instinctively flank him and the fetch. I unhook my bat and casually tap it against my boot as I watch Daisy rip open one of the fetch's file cabinets. He flips through and pulls out a thick ledger and slams it on the desk in front of the O'Kirk. Shuffling through his briefcase for a moment, he pulls a similar notebook out and slaps it against the cover of the ledger. "Do you think I'm fucking stupid?" He slaps the notebook again, making the fetch jump. "You've obviously banked on Murphy being stupid, but did you really think I wouldn't fucking notice?"

_what the fucking is daisy talking about?_

"Daisy, it's not what it looks like," O'Kirk swallows loudly, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose as he glances nervously around the room. "Listen, if we could just talk one on one?"

Daisy hits the fetch with the notebook, splashing the cover with blood. He opens the book and shoves a page in O'Kirk's face. "What's that fucking number? What's that fucking number, Stanley? How much have you been stealing from Murphy?"

My hand tightens around the bat, "He's been doing what?" I bring the bat to my shoulder.

O'Kirk mumbles something and Daisy slaps him in the face with the book again. The room is utterly silent as O'Kirk says, "One hundred and seventy million."

"Fucking WHAT," Woody exclaims. I snarl, moving closer to O'Kirk, noticing Liam doing the same on the other side of the desk. 

"If we could just talk, just you and me-" O'Kirk cowers by Daisy. "I know you'd understand."

"Understand what? That you're a lying bastard?" Daisy pushes O'Kirk away, the chair rolling backwards to hit the wall. "Understand that you fucked over a man that's been helping me and my friends since we got to this city?" Daisy looks up at me as I creep closer, "Maze, wait," he states.

_wait for what? he fucked murphy! this thing isnt even a person why the fuck are we even listening to it?_

Clenching my jaw, I move back a half a step. The fetch turns to Daisy, speaking quietly, almost under his breath. "We could split it," 

Narrowing his eyes, Daisy stares down at O'Kirk like the fetch is speaking another language. "What?"

"We could split it," the fetch repeats. "then we could get the hell out of the city. We both know exactly what strings to pull to make that happen. Murphy won't even notice the money is gone until-"

To everyone's surprise, Woody reaches over and grabs O'Kirk by the lapels, starting to pull him across the desk. "You fuckin' piece of shit," he says.

O'Kirk manages to squirm out of his grasp, just to be grabbed by Daisy, whose expression is grim as he states, "I'm taking you to Manhattan, and we'll have a talk with Murphy. Figure out what to do with you from there." Daisy opens the top drawer of the fetch's desk, retrieving a set of keys. Grabbing the two ledgers, he drags O'Kirk to the elevator. "I'll drive."

Woody, Liam and I wait impatiently in the kitchen of Murphy's deli. I stare at the small window to Murphy's office, trying to see through the closed blinds. "What the fuck," I spit out. "how the fuck are they going to leave us out of this? That pile of sentient garbage should be fucking dead right now!"

"They probably need him alive to fix whatever he's fucked up," Liam responds.

"That's what Daisy's around for!" I argue, kicking my foot against the wall.

There's a muffled thud from behind the office door, and we all look in that direction. The sound repeats again. Again. Smelling blood in the air, seeping from the small crack under the door, I shoulder my bat. There's a meaty slapping sound, followed by louder thudding. Something, a body, slams into the blinds, breaking the glass and leaving spatters of red on the frame. Now, the sounds of Daisy's fetch mewling and begging comes through the open window. Everyone is on alert as there's a scuffling sound on the other side of the door, before it opens and a bloodied, battered O'Kirk spills out onto the kitchen floor. He crawls a few steps, sputtering the word "please" out before Murphy lumbers out after him. Standing over the fetch, Murphy bends down and pummels his fist into the fetch's face repeatedly. I watch, enthralled, my mouth watering as I struggle not to join in the brutality. "Holy shit," I hear Woody mumble, as a tooth flies across the room.

Daisy casually walks out of the office, watching Murphy batter on O'Kirk. After a moment, he says, "Maybe you should give him a minute to rethink things." Murphy's fist lands a few more times before the large man gets up, wiping his blood grimed fist on his apron before stalking back into his office. "So, what do you think, Stanley?" O'Kirk doesn't reply, the fetch barely moves, other than to cough and choke on his own blood. "Huh. Maybe you hit him too hard, Murphy," Daisy calls over his shoulder before he looks over at Woody. "Hey, could you maybe help him out a little? Just a little, though. I don't want him too comfortable."

"Yeah." Woody replies, bending down next to the fetch. "Holy shit," he repeats, placing his hand on O'Kirk's chest for a moment. A soft glow surrounds Woody's hand and the surrounding area, and the air grows fragrant with the scent of maple. The fetch coughs again, a livelier, more vital sound, and begins moaning in pain. Woody looks over to Daisy.

"That's good enough," Daisy states. As Woody steps back from O'Kirk, Daisy squats down and stares into the fetch's battered face. "Do we have a deal?"

"Y-yes," sputters the fetch, curling into a ball and groaning.

"Great," replies Daisy, standing up with a smile. He looks over to the rest of us. "We just have to finish up a few things and then we're going to send Mr. O'Kirk on his way."

"You're joking, right?" I step towards Daisy and his fetch, my bat still on my shoulder. "He fucked Murphy! You're just going to let him get away with it?"

"No, that's not what we're doing-" Daisy replies.

"That's exactly what it fucking looks like!" I shake off Liam's hand as he grabs my arm, trying to pull me away before I get too fired up. "That thing fucked Murphy, and he should be fucking dead. What, are you fucking soft on him because he's a piece of you?"

Murphy steps out of his office, his expression stormy. "Maze, that'sa fuckin' 'nough."

I open my mouth to reply back, then close it so quickly I almost clip my tongue between my teeth. Spinning on my heels, I stalk out of the kitchen and out of the restaurant, clipping my bat back on my belt as I walk.

_daisy catches an embezzler for murphy and is a fucking hero. im going to catch someone trying to frame him as a loyalist. who loves the big guy more?_

Leaning up against the truck, I scowl.

_i guess this isnt a fucking contest._

The guys come out of the restaurant a short while later, bringing along a cloud of tension that settle over me as they approach the truck.

_guess theyre waiting to see if i crack somebody over the head with my bat._

Liam, sucking on the straw of a to-go cup of chocolate milk, comments, "Murphy said the monarchs are all having a meeting in a couple of days."

I turn to him, alarmed. "Fuck, did he say why?"

"It's Lord Tyler, you know he probably made things as vague as possible," Liam replies, rolling his eyes.

_this isnt good. i need to get this shit figured out._

Rubbing my eyes, I turn to Woody and Daisy. "We should go to the auto shop and see if Tanya's there. I can," I sigh, exasperated. "talk to her, I guess? See if she admits to posing as Murphy to frame him. Fuck."

"I'm sure she'll volunteer up that information right away," Woody responds, unlocking the truck.

"Fuck off," I snap, climbing into the backseat . "Christ, maybe if I fuck her again," I mumble under my breath.

"What?" Daisy says, turning around to stare at me. "You fucked Tanya?"

I stare back for a moment, blinking quietly, before leaning my head against the seat. "We should probably talk to Wane, too. Found out he can fucking shapeshift."

Liam slides into the seat next to me, slamming the door shut. "Did you fuck Wane?"

Turning my stare to Liam, I continue, in a louder, slightly irritated voice, "Wane also mention one of the monarchs asking him to do something for them, so that's kind of a red flag."

"I thought you were fucking Trog," Woody states, starting up the truck and pulling from the parking spot.

Pushing my hands through my hair, I continue speaking through my clenched jaw, "So, it will probably be a good idea to talk to both Tanya and Wane before this monarch meeting, so that there's no question of Murphy's name being clear, and if one more person asks about my fucking sex life I'm going to break you in fucking half..." I roll the window down and hang my head halfway out, closing my eyes and letting the wind temporarily deafen me.

My mood doesn't improve when we pull up to Throttle & Clutch. "Hello..." comes the usual greeting as I enter the store. "Welcome to..."

"Hey Larry," I say, brusquely. "I'm definitely not trying to be rude, but is Tanya around? I really need to talk to her."

Larry slowly shakes his head, simply stating, "No."

I blink, waiting to see if he's going to say anything else. After a moment, I explain, "There's some shit going on, and someone is trying to frame Murphy as a loyalist. I know that Tanya can morph her appearance and stuff like that, so I wanted to ask her some stuff about that." Larry stares at me. "It's really fucking important," I add.

"There were... already people around..." he sighs, "asking Tanya questions."

"Ok," I try not to grind my teeth as I stare down at Larry. "there's probably going to be a lot of people wanting to ask questions. But, what did she tell them?"

"She's innocent," is all Larry replies.

Flapping my hands in the air, I respond, "That's not super helpful." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Look, I just want to ask her some shit. Could you give me her address, or like, her phone number?"

Larry looks down at his magazine and replies, "I sent... her... away."

"You WHAT?" I stare, wide eyed, down at Larry. "Why the fuck did you do that?"

"So she'll be..." he turns a page, "safe."

Enraged, I reach down and slam Larry's magazine shut. "Are you fucking stupid? Sending her away just made her look one hundred percent guilty! Jesus christ, innocent people don't skip town, Larry. What the hell do you think Lord Tyler is going to say when you-"

"Shut up," Larry says, still staring down at the closed magazine.

"What?" I respond, taken aback.

"Shut up, Maze." Larry looks up at me, his expression dull, but nonetheless dangerous. "It's not your place to question my choices regarding my court." Once more, I'm biting my tongue to keep from saying something I'll likely regret. Larry reopens his magazine and states: "The king will take my word over the word of some girl fresh out of the thorns who can't even control her temper." Looking back down at the pages, he finishes with: "Go... away."

I climb back into the truck, slamming the door hard enough to shudder the frame. "Hey! Easy on her, she's a delicate girl," Woody comments, affectionately patting the dashboard as he pulls out of the parking lot.

"Well?" Daisy asks, looking back at me.

"Nothing," I reply, concentrating on keeping my breathing even as I keep my temper in check. "Lets just go back to the hotel."

"What do you mean nothing?" Liam asks. "You look like you were talking to Larry for awhile."

"I mean, Larry's a fucking idiot." I clench my fists, staring out the window.

Liam scoffs. "We knew that already, but what about Tanya?" 

I let out a snarl. "Fucking Larry sent her out of fucking town!"

"What," asks Daisy. "Why?"

Once more speaking through gritted teeth, I reply, "The Green Mountain Boys must have been there asking questions. Larry says Tanya is innocent, and that's apparently good enough for him, so he sent her away so no one would bother her."

"Why not call her?" Woody asks. "She didn't give you her number after you guys fucked?" I snarl at him and he chuckles, holding his hands up over the steering wheel as he drives.

"Larry didn't trust you enough to let you know where she was? Even though you guys are in the same court?" Daisy muses. "That's fucked up."

"Is it?" I respond, angrily. "I hadn't fucking noticed."

"Did you ah," I stare at Woody in the rearview mirror, my eyes narrowed, hoping he's smart enough to hold his tongue. "Did you try fucking Larry?"

I'm so furious that the edges of my vision start to blur slightly. "Pull over," I demand, my voice low and as calm as I can force it to be.

"Why-" Woody starts.

"PULL OVER. I'm walking." Woody pulls the truck to the nearest curb and I'm out the minute the wheels stop moving. Slinging my backpack over my shoulders, I stare straight ahead and walk, briskly and mechanically, down the sidewalk.

_stay cool be cool. im out of the truck. i got out before i did anything stupid. i got out so i didnt BREAK WOODYS FUCKING NECK. no no im alright. im not gonna hurt anyone. im under control._

Someone lays on the horn behind me and I ignore it, used to the sound as typical city driving background noise. The horn continues to blare, staying right behind me, following me as I trek the sidewalk. I sniff the air, and through the odor of pollution, exhaust and sewage, I catch a familar scent. 

_he has a fucking death wish._

I turn around and see the truck following me at a crawl. Hanging half out of the driver's side window is a grinning Woody, one hand waving, the other planted firmly on the horn. Without thinking, I take a single step into the street, and another to place my in front of the truck. Woody hits the brakes, the truck stopping an inch or two before hitting me. My muscles bulge, flexing out from my arms as I clench both hands into fists and bring them down onto the hot hood of the truck. The metal crumples like paper around my hands, as the front of the truck folds nearly in half. I hear alarmed and angry protests from inside the cab as I pull my scalded fists from the ruined metal and continue my walk back to the hotel.

It takes me hours to walk back to the hotel, and I'm both surprised and confused to see the truck sitting in the usual parking spot, front end still demolished. 

_better the truck than woodys face._

The sun is setting, and the lights at Murphy's are flickering on. I stare up at the hotel, then back at the deli, not feeling overly welcome at either location. Leaning against the truck, I'm contemplating going to the cigar shop when I spot a large hooded figure shuffling into the parking lot. Something seems to lighten in me, and as the figure draws closer, I casually call out: "Hey, you look sorta sweaty."

Trog looks up and lowers the loose hood draped around his face, obscuring his grey skin and tusks. "Yeah, I might have to just start going out at night."

I nod, shifting from foot to foot. "Listen, did you-" I pause. "Did you have plans? Sleeping plans? Or..." I trail off, lowering my voice and dropping my eyes to the pavement. "I don't really feel like being up there with the guys is an ideal situation for me right now."

Shrugging, Trog replies, "I don't mind. You need to talk?" The frame of the truck shudders under his weight as he jumps up onto the tailgate and sits down up on top of the cab.

Eying up the caved-in hood of the truck, I respond with a single, drawn out "yeah". I pull off my backpack and toss it into the truck bed, staring at it with my lips pressed together. 

Trog pats the spot between his feet in the truck bed. "Come on up and tell me what's on your mind."

Climbing into the truck, I plop ungracefully in front of Trog. "I'm so fucking angry." I pause. "All the time." I unclench my hands with visible effort. "I'm even more angry that I've keep getting this fucking bullshit misunderstood feeling that makes me want to explain myself. It makes me want to explain my fucking actions that should be fucking explanation enough,"

Resting his hand on top of my head, Trog starts massaging his calloused finger over my scalp. "Not everyone is gonna understand you. They probably don't want to," he states in a steady monotone.

"Fucking, why?" I respond, frustrated. The anger rolls off of me in tangible waves of heat.

"I don't know," he replies simply.

"That's a lot of fucking help." I sigh angrily, tilting my head back and staring up at Trog. "Sorry, I'm not trying to lash out at you. Just, you know, everything else."

"No offense taken. I just haven't figured it out, either." He moves his hand to my shoulder, gripping it tightly. "That's life."

"Is it life?" I take a deep breath, gaining a modicum of comfort from Trog's touch. "How am I supposed to accept that that's life if I barely know who the fuck I am?"

"Just because its life right now doesn't mean its life forever. To improve is to change, right? So, yeah. Life'll change for you, probably. Eventually."

Furrowing my brow, I respond: "When the hell did you get so introspective? Or uh, perceptive."

"Dunno. I had some real eye opening moments with the boys this week. Seriously, really helped me figure out who I used to be." His hand begins massaging the skin beneath it, rubbing my hackles down.

Legitimately interested, I tilt my head back to look up at him again, asking, "Who did you used to be? Like, before now?"

"From what I remember," he ponderously explains, "I was a student, either university or high school. No idea on that."

"Huh. That's, huh." I fall silent for a moment, staring forward and stretching my legs out in front of me. "What do you remember about the other shit? Like, over there."

"Not a whole lot, just mindless days killing and being killed. My whole fucking mind being tenderized by constant warfare." He spits over the side of the truck, onto the asphalt. "They did help me remember when I first arrived, though."

"Yeah. All that. I fucking remember that too. Pretty sure I remember you literally snapping my neck once..." I let out a short bark of a laugh, hoping Trog doesn't notice how I involuntarily tense under his hand. "How did they help you remember?"

"Uh, meditation? Like a guided thing. I thought one of them had drugged me, but they swear up and down it was just like, a psychotherapy thing." Trog shrugs. "It was wild, though. Like finding another me hidden underneath my shit. "

"The other you got two arms?" I let out another short laugh, this one less forced. "What else did you remember?"

"I wasn't always in the pits, apparently," Trog explains, "Spent a lot of time hunting, chasing, all that. There was a goblin that would make me catch his dinner every night. Eventually, I guess he got tired of me."

"Fucking hell." I frown. "Sometimes the way they act," I gesture towards the hotel, "makes me wonder if they were ever actually over there in the first place." My jaw clenches, even as I rest my head against Trog's leg.

"House slave, field slave sorta thing," he replies quietly.

"Doesn't it piss you off?"

"I don't know if it can. I'm using up all my hate and anger on the Keepers."

"I don't know if that's enviable or not." I rub my face, and once more look up at Trog. "That's the shit that pisses me off the most. It's like I'm fucking jealous. I feel like everyone has memories, and knowledge, and fucking emotions other than anger. What the fuck do I have?"

Trog offers, "I can see if the boys would be willing to talk you through the stuff, see if anything bubbles up. Would that help?"

"Maybe." I hesitate. "What would they want in return?"

"No clue. Probably you joining. But, honestly, I have no idea. They're not like any of the other people like us I've met so far. They're driven, but not really hard about it. You know?" He lifts his arm to shake his coat from his shoulders.

I watch him for a second, before standing and helping him pull the coat off. "Yeah, I've caught on to that. Really, I've already thought about joining. Fucking, especially having to deal with Larry tonight."

"I mean, you seem pretty Summer to me, though. Winter worked for me, but I knew I'd never be good at city or county living. The Brim is where I belong." Trog tosses the coat into the truck bed, turning his attention over to me. "You? I'm not so sure."

"I'm not sure either." I shake my head. "When I first got out, man. Roux and the Summer court there just felt so right. For a minute, I thought things could be ok." I pause. "I fucking hate Larry. He's an idiot. They all seem like idiots. I hate this fucking CITY. It's all just shit." I kick the side of the truck bed in frustration.

Trog laughs as a portion of the plastic truck bed cracks when I kick it. "Cities this big suck. Maybe you should try your luck out west. Maybe down South. Hell, maybe coming down to the States was a mistake."

"Not much hasn't been a mistake honestly, but it's not like I have any other direction." I push my boot against the crack, scowling. "I just want some fucking trees or something. And animals, I hate how all the food is already dead around here."

"There's the sewers. I spent a day in there and it wasn't too bad, honestly." Trog watches me, a calm expression on his face.

"Yeah?" I glance up. "Didn't happen to run into any scaly motherfuckers, did ya?"

"Uh, yeah actually. Shits full of every parasitic gross piece of life in the world down there."

"Well yeah, it's a sewer." I pause. "I didn't mean the usual sewer shit. I meant people. People like us." I pause again, before adding, "A specific person, I guess."

Trog shrugs. "Uh, no idea. Anytime there was movement, I just shuffled farther down. You know, laying low."

"Can't imagine all ninety fucking feet of you laying low." Vaguely uneasy, I still manage to smirk. "Probably for the best anyway. Getting shot fucking hurts."

"Yeah? Any battle scars?" He asks, seeming legitimately interested.

Without hesitation, I unzip my hoodie and toss it into the truck bed. My tank top follows as I face Trog in cargo pants and a sports bra. I prod at the older, puckered scars that pepper my chest and stomach. "These are from the day after I got out." Turning away from Trog, I move my hair over my shoulder, showing him the mostly healed marks on my back. "This was the other night at Murphy's. Luckily nobody had a fucking shotgun that time."

"Who the hell jumped you at Murphy's?" Trog traces the circular marks with his fingertips.

"Wasn't so much me getting jumped, it was this Italian motherfucker pulling a gun on Murphy." I close my eyes, enjoying the soft touch of his fingers on my skin. "I put myself between the Italian fuck and uh, everyone else ready to blow him away."

"Sounds like the lucky prize." Trog examines the wounds and concludes, "Shit. You're lucky you're breathing."

"Never really thought of it that way." I grab my tank top, slipping it back over my head before moving to lean against the cab next to Trog. "It's kind of fucking terrifying, ya know. If I die out here, that's it. I'm gone."

"That's the experience for most people, and for us before the Others fucked us up." He shrugs, "Still, we could have died over there. He just didn't let us."

I'm quiet for a moment, before replying, "Fuck him. Fuck him to fucking death." My lip lifts briefly in disgust, and I turn my face up to the pollution filled sky. "Do you have a way of like, calling your guys? A smoke signal or some shit? I wouldn't mind talking to Benedict."

"There's a phone line, but I don't have the number memorized. We'd have to take one of the things out to the Village." Trog slips his arm around me.

Confused, I lean my head against his shoulder and ask, "The things? Like, a cab?"

"No, like their doors and stuff. Its way easier than a cab. No one looks at me weirdly, or freaks out when I'm on the other side."

"Oh, right. How the hell do you find the right door?"

"They told me where to look. I mean, you still have to get out of the city to find the right one." Trog looks around, "I think, North?"

I follow Trog's line of sight with a interested look. "You wanna show me?"

To the North is merely the highway out of town, but Trog looks higher, up towards the sky. "I don't know. I'm having trouble remembering where it was."

"Huh. Wonder if that's a thing." I glance up as well. "Like a defensive thing, so any old asshole doesn't come knocking."

"How do you mean? Like, I might not be able to remember on purpose?"

"Maybe? If it ain't a thing, it'd be a clever thing to do." My tone turn slightly bitter as I continue, "But what the hell do I know?" 

"Probably a lot, actually." Trog states, glancing down at me.

I scoff. "Shows how much /you/ know." I lean my head against his shoulder again, content that I'm, if not in high spirits, at least no longer in a barely contained violent rage. 

_this is nice. this is something i could get used to maybe._

"You hungry?" I ask, after a couple peaceful minutes pass.

"I could eat," Trog replies, smiling down at me.

I grudgingly move out from under his arm. "I can go grab us something from Murphy's. I'd bring you along, but uh, he's already in a pretty foul mood."

Trog laughs, laying back against the cab, his legs hanging down into the truck bed. "Sure, hold the cabbage though."

Murphy is civil, although not his jovial, talkative self. I get two to-go meals and Trog and I eat in the bed of the truck. Once it's late enough that I'm sure the guys are asleep, we head up to the hotel room, where Trog falls asleep so quickly it's enviable. I curl against him and manage to follow him into the land of dreams shortly after.


	19. Chapter 19

New York City. Sept of 2000.

"Remind me why we're at this crackden ass early in the morning?" Liam yawns, trudging up the last flight of stairs. "Is Wane even capable of waking up before the sun goes down?"

I roll my eyes as we head down the hallway to Wane's apartment. "He's most likely to be sober, or at least sobering up." I knock on the newly replaced door.

Liam leans against the wall. "What if he doesn't answer?"

"Guess we'll owe Wane another door," I reply, knocking again. 

It's another five minutes of persistent knocking before I hear someone approaching from inside the apartment. There's a pause as someone looks through the peephole, then the click of the door unlocking. It swings open to reveal Charon, dressed in striped pajama pants and a baggy band t-shirt. "Hey. Uh," he runs his hand through his mussed up hair, "what're you guys doing here?" Liam and I stare at him for a moment, and he steps back to gesture towards the interior of the apartment. "Come in, I guess."

Liam pushes past Charon and walks into the living room, flopping down on the couch and tossing his arm over his eyes. "Wake me up when you're done."

I step inside, allowing Charon to close the door. "We," I look over at Liam's lounging form and correct myself. "/I/ need to ask Wane about some shit."

"Um." Charon glances at a closed door, likely Wane's bedroom. "Shit. Well, you're welcome to try, but he just crashed about," he squints, looking at the glowing display above the stove. "an hour and a half ago."

"Fuck," I reply. Liam snorts, either laughing or snoring. "It's pretty important shit," I continue, looking back to Charon. "has Wane been doing any shady shit that you know about?" Before he can answer, I clarify, "Besides his normal shit. I'm talking about like, our shit." I gesture to Liam and I.

Charon contemplates for a moment, before responding, "He went to talk to that chick at the sex club a few times, like you guys told him to."

"A few times?" I narrow my eyes. "Like, specifically more than once?" 

"Yeah," Charon confirms.

_oh god damn it. you dumb kid. you poor dumb kid._

"Fuck," I repeat, heading straight towards the room I suspect is Wane's. Pushing the door open, I almost trip on a pile of discarded clothes in the abnormally dark room. "What the fuck," I mumble, nearly blind as I carefully move towards the heavily curtained window. Pulling the thick drapes aside, sunlight illuminates a room covered in posters and handbills. The air smells of clove cigarettes and stale liquor, and a shirtless Wane lay tangled in his bedsheets, dead to the world. I walk over to the bed and shake his skinny shoulder. "Wane, wake the fuck up." 

He whines, rolling away from the light and half speaking, half groaning the word: "no."

I roll him back over and yank the pillow out from under his head. "You have to get up."

His eyes still closed, Wane sighs. "Fiiine," he pushes his sheets below his waist, revealing the tented front of his boxers. "You've gotta get on top though, I'm knackered."

"You jackass," I hit in the head with his own pillow. "I'm not here to fuck you again."

"Ow, Maze..." Wane sits up slightly, looking at me with one eye still squinted shut. "What're you doin'? I'm fuckin' tryin' to sleep."

I pick up a shirt from the floor and toss it at him. "I'm trying to get your ass out of the fire. Again." When he starts to lay back down, I grab his arm and pull him back up in a sitting position. "Wane, what did the Winter queen ask you to do for her?"

"Wintergreen?" Wane nods forward, his head leaning against my stomach as he starts to snore lightly.

Scrubbing vigorously at my face, I look down at the scrawny, snoring boy. "Jesus christ." Grabbing the shirt from Wane's lap, I begin dressing his unconscious form.

I come out of his bedroom a few minutes later, hoisting a fully dressed and fully asleep Wane. Liam lifts his arm from his eyes and peers over at me. "Did you kill him?"

"Fuck you, no." I look to Charon. "Can you give us a ride back to our hotel?"

Charon sips from a mug of coffee, appearing concerned. "What ah, are your intentions?"

Rolling my eyes, I shift my weight, adjusting the inert changeling in my arms. "Just borrowing him. I don't want to chance anyone getting wind that people are asking questions and try fucking with him." Gesturing for Liam to get up, I add, "and I need him to be sober."

"Ohh," Charon says, grabbing his keys. "Might want to lock him in somewhere, then."

Liam wedges the chair under the doorknob and looks over at me, his expression doubtful. "It's what they do in movies, but it doesn't really look all that impressive in real life."

I scowl. "Well, Wane is a whole ninety pounds soaking wet. If it would work in anyone's case, it'd be his."

"Looks a lot like you're kidnapping somebody," comments Trog, who woke up shortly after we brought in our guest.

"I left a note," I insist. "Not like, a ransom note. A note explaining where he is and why he's here."

Trog looks skeptical. "Why /is/ he here?"

"Oh yeah, you should tell Mr. Punch First Ask Questions Later over here why you kidnapped Wane," Liam teases.

I glare at Liam. "You, shut up." I level a slightly less threatening glare at Trog. "And you... don't worry about it." Begrudgingly, I add, "Yet."

Shrugging, Trog sits on the edge of the couch and begins pulling his boots on, one handed. I watch quietly, fighting the bizarre urge to go over and help him. Instead, I retrieve a bag of jerky from my backpack and shove a piece in my mouth. "So," I start, chewing loudly, "what's on the schedule for today?"

"Think I might get a manicure," Liam responds, watching Charlotte crawl across his fingers. I scowl at him in response.

"I was heading to the goblin market," Trog replies, zipping his boot. "sometimes we can catch some good leads there, with all the fae and goblins around."

"What's a goblin market," Liam and I ask, almost in unison.

Trog laughs before explaining, "They're like a cross between a flea market and bazaar, but in the Hedge. Some kind of have a little black market aspect to them."

Liam's expression lights up. "I want to go." He looks at me, then Trog. "Can we come with you?"

"Sure, if you want to." Trog and Liam both glance at me.

_jeez this is the first time ive seen liam get excited about anything in awhile. guess we can both use a little respite from the bullshit. he gets to check out a goblin market and i get to. well. whatever._

I meet Trog's gaze, cracking the smallest of smiles. "Sounds cool."

"Pretty sure the door is around here," Trog says, lifting the hood of his jacket off his face slightly to stare around the oval shaped park. "I remember it's near the softball field."

Liam glances, disbelieving, over to Trog. "Uh, you realize we're looking out at six fucking softball fields here, right?"

Trog continues to look around, ignoring Liam. I sniff the air lightly, trying to isolate one specific odor from the myriad of smells surrounding Central Park. "Is it," I start walking towards a large tree, set behind one of the dirt ball fields. "Is it maybe back here?"

"Yeah, you're right," Trog responds. "Good nose, Maze." He leads us over to the tree, making sure that our actions are mostly blocked by the tree's wide trunk, before placing his hand to the bark. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, there's a light shimmer in the air around his hand, and he steps into the tree. 

"Uh," Liam says. "I hope that was what was supposed to happen."

"Here's fucking hoping," I respond, pressing my hand to and through the tree. There's the curious and vaguely nauseating sensation of being flipped upside down, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the vertigo. I hear a thump, and the sound of Liam moaning next to me. Opening my eyes again, I'm surprised to see that I'm right side up, and at the roots of a vast tree growing from the thorns and vines of the hedge. There's a light breeze in the air, carrying with it none of the city smells, but something familiar and foreign, both at once. 

Liam, climbing to his feet, examines a deep scratch on his hand. "Fucking thorns." A few beads of his blood drop to the ground, and what look like small, pale mushrooms skitter from their spot under the vines and begin siphoning the blood from the dirt. Liam quickly moves away from the carnivorous fungi with a disgusted sound.

"Don't worry about them," Trog remarks, grabbing Liam with one hand before Liam barrels into him. "They're more scavengers than predators."

I draw closer to the pack of mushrooms. "They're cute." I fish a big of jerky from my bag and kneel on the ground. "Hey little guys, are you hungry?" Breaking the jerky into smaller pieces, I toss it towards the mushrooms.

"Amazing," I hear Liam mumble, "can't stand most people, but bonds with sentient fungus."

"Shut up, Liam." Trog replies, pleasantly.

I can help smiling as the mushrooms rush forward to fall on the chunks of dried meat, even holding out a piece for the more confident ones to eat directly from my hand. I feed most of the bag to the mushrooms, before they lumber back to their spots under the hedge, significantly larger than they were before they started eating. Standing back up I notice one of them holding securely onto my pant leg. I look at Trog, "Uh, should I worry?"

Trog shrugs. "Probably not. Worse comes to worse, you'll have to pry it off before we go back over."

We start walking, Trog leading the way. My head moves on a swivel, watching every creature we pass, from the large caterpillar that wears boots and cheerily chews up the leaves and debris that litter the ground, to the river that occasionally extends a watery hand to the riverbed to retrieve a fish that has jumped to far from the rapids. I'm convinced that everything is completely uninterested in our presence until I take a step to continue walking after Trog and my foot comes down on air. My other foot quickly dangles above the ground to join it and I feel something grasping my shoulder. With a shout of alarm, I look up to see an eagle sized dragonfly with human-like hands. Hands that grip my shoulders as the creature lifts me into the air with an incredible strength. "Put me the fuck down!" I exclaim.

Liam, his expression stunned, grabs my leg and tries to pull me back down, barely budging me from the dragonfly creature's tight grasp. The creature makes an angry, spitting sound, turning it's bulging, compound eyes towards Liam as it says, simply, "Mine!"

"No, I'm not!" I insist, trying to struggle enough to make it drop me.

"Mine!" The creature repeats.

"No, she's not," Trog states. He makes no effort to grab me, but stares up at the creature, as if in silent challenge.

"Mine," is all the creature replies, still lifting me.

"No," Trog stands his ground. "She's mine."

I stop struggling, unwisely, and stare down at Trog.

_did he just say i was his?_

The dragonfly creature stops it's ascent, buzzing quietly before stating, "Mine?"

"She is mine," Trog states.

_hes probably just saying that to make it let go. its not like trog-_

"Ow, fuck!" I land tailbone first on the ground as the creature drops me. It makes a shrill sound as it flies away angrily. "Thanks," I say, taking Trog's offered hand.

He lifts me to my feet with ease. "That's why you never want to come here by yourself." We recommence walking as he continues, "even the rest of the Boys will only travel in the hedge in a group. You don't want to take any chances."

"Noted," I reply.

We come up on two gargantuan, rusted out Volkswagen Beetles framing an entrance to what looks like the midway to a carnival. As we pass the entrance, the three of us are thoroughly scrutinized by a set of creatures that look like six foot tall lobsters with lion heads. Merchants of all types are scattered around, under large, colorful tents. A seemingly human man calls out to Liam and I from a table covered in a random collection of items. We wander away from Trog, approaching the man as he waves us over. 

"I'm sure I have exactly what you two are looking for," the man says, as if continuing a conversation that neither of us started. 

"I don't remember saying I was looking for anything," responds Liam, looking at the items on the table, unimpressed.

I reach forward to examine a strange doll with mismatched parts and the merchant hastily blocks my hand. "You don't want to do that. She bites, and her bite is a nasty one."

Confused, I pull my hand back. "So, what are you selling? Biting dolls and stuff you found in your attic?"

The merchant appears offended. "Do you make a habit of insulting people trying to provide you with rare and priceless items?"

"Is that a rare and priceless dirty fucking boot?" Liam asks, pointing to the object in question.

I let out a brief bark of laughter, and the merchant shoots me a dirty look. Inexplicably, he gestures to the bat hanging from my belt. "I guess you think you're hot shit because you've got your own token already."

Placing a protective hand over my bat, I respond, "Huh? What's a token?"

"Is that a legitimate question?" The merchant narrows his eyes, surveying Liam and I. 

"Well yeah, I asked it, didn't I?" I look over to Liam, who shrugs, wandering towards another stall.

Affectionately rearranging the items on the table, he explains, "A token is an object that appears ordinary or mundane, but is imbued with fae magic."

"And my bat is a token?" I ask.

"Yes," the merchant replies, with a quizzical look. "An incredibly powerful one. Didn't you know?"

I stare at him for a moment, unconsciously backing away from the stall as I reply, simply, "No."

The crowd is eerily quiet as I look up to the bleachers surrounding the arena. Standing at the edge of the pit is the Keeper. The Lord of Green Mountain. All attention seems to have diverted from the fight to the multi eyed being, casually severing the pinky finger from his right hand. He pulls and forms the digit, molding it into the shape of a bat. The Keeper peers down into the pit, meeting my eyes before nonchalantly tossing the weapon to me.

I back up into something warm and slightly yielding, and a hand comes to rests on my shoulder. "You ok?" Trog's voice asks.

_jesus its his finger. im carrying around a piece of his finger a piece of HIM._

Turning around, away from the token merchant, I hope my expression doesn't betray my distress as I reply, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." I pretend to be interested in a nearby stall to avoid Trog's curious gaze. 

The feigned interest becomes legitimate interest when the merchant, a changeling named Kealan, with wrinkled, drooping skin, tells me about a contract he offers that would give me the ability to tell truth from lies. "You are not permitted, of course, to lie while using this ability," he explains, "lest you lose all ability to glean the truth at all."

"How much does it cost?" I ask, causing both Trog and Kealan to wince.

"Perhaps you would also be interested in something to help you with your ability to barter?" Kealan teases.

"Merchants at goblin markets typically don't deal in paper and coin currency," Trog informs me. 

Frowning, I look to Kealan and ask, "Then what currency /do/ you deal in?"

Kealan smiles, the expression almost hidden under his drooping skin. "Memories. I love collecting memories. You see, I started getting tired of my own, so I decided it would be much more interesting to start remembering other people's memories instead."

"I barely have any memories as it is," I lament. Contemplating for a moment, I pull off my bookbag and dig through it. "What about shit with memories attached to it? Do you accept that?"

Kealan replies, "Depends on the 'shit', I would say." 

From the bottom of my bag, I pull out a human femur. affectionately running my thumb over the gnaw marks on its surface, I look up to Kealan. "This has some," I pause, "ah, pretty strong memories attached to it."

"May I?" he asks, holding out his hand. I place the bone in his palm, watching as his eyes unfocus and his expression goes from intrigued, to fascinated. "Oh." He blinks a few times, closing his fingers around the bone. "This will certainly suffice!" He pushes a rolled scroll of parchment across the table at me. "These are simply the instructions. More of a custom really, for people who like to have a physical representation of their purchase, you know."

"So, that's it?" I look from the merchant, to Trog, and back again. "I can activate this, or whatever, and be able to tell if someone is lying?"

Nodding, Kealan sits back down on his stool, still holding the femur bone. "I'm sure you'll find out soon enough how unpleasant it is knowing how often people lie to you," he states, waving goodbye as Trog and I wander away from the stall.

Trog and I walk quietly, and I find myself observing the other changelings and goblins perusing the market as much as I'm checking out the merchants themselves. A stall hosted by a man in a lab coat, his table covered in plants and tree bearing fruit catches my attention, and I make a mental note to stop by once we catch up with Liam. There's quite a few more lobster lion people, some working at small food trucks, an almost amusing sight, selling funnel cake and cotton candy.

We start moving in the direction of a loud and inviting voice. Eventually, a small crowd comes into view, with Liam standing at the far end of the group, looking something between annoyed and intrigued. The voice is coming from a lanky, dark-haired changeling with rodeo clown regalia and greasepaint makeup. "Ladies and Gentleman! Not so gentle creatures and fair folks! I have so many new and exciting things for sale today! Beasts and beauties and everything in between!" He sweeps his arm dramatically towards a huge tent, speaking over the strange yips and cries that come from within. "Please peruse my wonderous wares!"

As the crowd begins to surge forward, exploring further into the tents innards, I can see what looks like piles of blocks stacked on top of each other. Moving closer for a better look, I hear Trog or Liam say something to me in a cautioning, worried tone. The clown is still shouting his spiel as I draw close enough to see what is being sold under the tent.

_there are people in cages._

Faces stare at me through the bars, and I must be having an outburst because all of the sudden Trog's one arm is clamped around my chest, dragging me away from the cages. All of the sudden the lobster lion people are around us, looking more frightening than funny as Liam grabs both my hands, trying to get me to stop reaching for my bat. The clown jumps off his platform, palms raised as he approaches the lobster lions. "No harm, no foul here fellas. The lady just got a little upset when she lost a bid." He grins under his painted on smile. "I'll make sure she walks away with something even /better/." Mumbling between themselves, the lobster lions disperse. The clown looks at me, as I pant angrily in Trog's grasp. "Hey, you might want to chill the fuck out because they will actually snap your head off if you disrupt business around here." 

Growling through my teeth, I respond, "You have people in fucking cages. You're selling people."

The clown, still grinning, says, "I'm selling the product that my employer is providing for me to sell."

"It's fucking people!" I shout, as Trog tightens his grasp.

"Maze-" Liam starts.

His grin becoming brittle, the clown repeats, "I'm selling the product that my employer is providing for me to sell. Now, if you don't mind, I believe your friend was interested in making a purchase."

I turn to Liam, "Fucking WHAT?"

Rolling his eyes, Liam replies, "Not a person, jesus christ."

The clown, still smiling, turns to Liam and gestures for him to follow. "As I was saying, I'm Gandlo, and I run the menagerie here." Stopping in front of one of the smaller cages, he and Liam look inside. "I know you were admiring this little guy. This is Pompy," the clown, Gandlo, states, reaching into the cage and allowing the creature to crawl onto his hand. Pompy is apparently a hawk sized, wasp looking creature. He flutters his four wings, curled black antennae twitching as his round, bulging eyes look around at Trog, Liam and I. "He's a perfect companion, or security, or decoration," My eyes turn back to the cages. Walls of cages. Some of the creatures in the cages look complacent, but they're still trapped. 

_theyre still slaves._

Gandlo is passing Pompy to Liams hand. The wasp-creature buzzes happily. "Pompy eats other insects, or small animals, or vegetation, or whatever you have laying around," Some of the cages have people in them. Some of the people sit passively against the bars. Some of them are swathed in chains, with collars around their necks.

_THERE ARE PEOPLE IN CAGES._

Green. Everything looks green. Feels green. Everything smells green. The leather around my neck is loose as I turn my nose to the air, searching for the right scent. It becomes taut as I take a few steps in one direction. I growl as the collar pulls me back until I'm forced onto my haunches. "Heel," a voice says. I comply, breathing in the scent I'm tracking, confident that the trail leads in the direction I face. After a moment, the tension on my collar loosens, and I'm allowed to start the hunt. I follow the trail at a steady trot, the footsteps keeping pace behind me as we draw closer to the source of the scent. When the two figures come into view, I attempt to lunge and I'm yanked back to stare into the face of my overseer. Godwin once more instructs me to heel, his hand gripped around the leash that leads to my collar. Only when I obey does he give me a satisfied smile as he drops the end of the leash to the ground. "Go get them," he orders, and I turn tail and take off after the pair of attempted escapees. 

Pompy lets out a shrill screech and, wincing, Liam nods his head. "Yeah, like that. That's perfect." He shakes his head, sticking a finger in his ear as if to clear it. "Better than a Brinks security system." 

I look around, briefly remembering the circumstances surrounding the purchase of the small fae creature and trying to recall what Liam told me about the strange shelter we're in.

_the hollow. liam bought a hollow. were still in the hedge and this is a place we can come to now. like a home._

The room is quiet, and I realize that Trog and Liam are looking at me, an expectant expression on both their faces. "Um. Yeah?" I blink. "What."

"You ready to go back?" Trog asks, now appearing concerned.

"Oh," I internally shake myself and start walking towards the door. "Yup. Yeah. Let's go."

Liam gives Pompy an affectionate pat on the head, rolling his eyes at me as he follows Trog and I out.

The trip back through the hedge is uneventful, and when we come out on the other side of the tree, in Central Park, it's night time. As we're walking back to the street, Trog mentions, "I have to meet up with Benedict and the Boys, get our shit together before the meeting tomorrow night."

Liam laughs, "Benedict and the Boys, that should be the name of your new band." He walks out to the edge of the sidewalk, attempting to hail a cab.

_fuck. thats tomorrow night and i havent even gotten shit taken care of. if i hadnt been spending so much time up my own ass..._

"You alright, Maze?" Trog asks quietly. "You've seemed kind of..." he lets his sentence trail off, his expression concerned.

_i could talk to trog. i could get some of this shit off my chest and he would listen without judging me._

I shove my hands in my pockets, watching Liam struggle to hail a taxi. 

_no. theres more important shit going on. i dont need to get him tied up in my problems. hes got his own to deal with._

Looking up at Trog, I force a ghost of a smile on my face. "I'm alright. It was just kind of weird being in the Hedge for the first time, I guess." His expression disbelieving, Trog looks like he's going to say something when Liam roars in victory as a cab slows down and pulls to the curb next to him. I nudge Trog's arm with my own and comment, "You know where I am if you need me," before walking to the taxi and climbing in.

When the cab drops us off, I glance around the parking lot, confused. "Wait. Where the fuck is the truck?"

Liam pushes open the entrance door. "Woody took it to this shop upstate or something."

As we start up the stairs, I ask, "How the fuck did he get it moving?"

"Same way he got it back here the night you Hulk smashed the hood. He touched the wheel and asked it to drive us back." Liam shrugs, appearing unimpressed. "It's some shit he can do, apparently."

"Guess that's a good thing," I reply. "Maybe he'll learn not to fucking test my temper next time."

Reaching our floor, Liam and I turn into the hallway leading to our room. "Maybe you'll stop being such a bitch to the people who care about you?"

_what the fuck did he just say to me?_

I turn to Liam, about to reply with something hostile, when our room comes into view. The door hangs open, and the carpet in front of the door is pressed down and wrinkled slightly, as if something was dragged through the threshold. "What the shit," I groan, rushing into the room.

Liam is right behind me, his gun out as he surveys the room. The coffee table is flipped over and a portion of the carpet is ripped clean off of the floor. The chair that was tucked under the doorknob of Wane's door is on the other side of the room with two of the legs sheared off. "Fuck," Liam comments. The door itself looks as if something tried to chew through it, the wood shattered and gnawed from the knob on down. 

Pushing the door open, I see the room is empty. The carpet is torn in here as well, with distinct claw marks marring the wood underneath. The bed is a mass of torn and disheveled blankets, but no sign of Wane. I quickly move to the other bedroom, checking it over, but it appears untouched. Looking over to Liam, I flap my arms in frustration. "The fuck! He was supposed to be safe here!"

"There's no blood, so he might not have gotten hurt," Liam states, his tone consoling. 

I rush over to the phone, digging through my bag for the scrap of paper with Charon's phone number written on it. Dialing, I let the phone buzz in my ear for at least two dozen rings before slamming the phone back down. "Charon isn't answering." I stare at the phone with something akin to hatred. "I'd say we should call Trog or Benedict, but we don't have their fucking numbers." I drop down on the couch, discouraged. "We don't even have a way to reach Daisy or Woody."

Liam plops on the couch next to me and we both sit in the partially wrecked room and wait for someone to show up and tell us what to do next.


	20. Chapter 20

New York City. Sept of 2000.

A shrill, jangling sound jars me out of sleep. "Wha-fuck?" I mumble, rubbing my eyes and looking around the bright hotel room. There's the jangling sound again, the phone, ringing from the end table. Rolling over, I start to stretch over Liam, who's also sleeping on the sofa bed. 

He grumbles and pushes me off. "I'll ged'it." Slapping his hand around on the table, the phone rings twice more before he manages to grab it. Yawning, he puts the receiver to his ear. "Fuck," he says. "I mean," he yawns again, "hello?" 

I sit up, leaning against the back of the couch as Liam carries his half of a conversation. Both rooms are still empty, the room Wane formerly inhabited looking somehow worse in the daylight. Looking over at Liam as he hangs up the phone, I ask, "Was that Daisy, telling you where the fuck he's been?"

"No," Liam sits up, stretching his arms behind his back, the appendages on his shoulders lifting menacingly. "Father Fuck Em to Death. He wants us to meet him uptown."

Raising an eyebrow, I ask, "Really? For what?" 

"He mentioned sushi," Liam slides off the edge of the bed, picking through his pile of clothes for a clean shirt. "Something about Ethan, too. I dunno," he shrugs.

"Oooh," I reply, rising from the sofa bed, shooting Liam a knowing smirk. I dodge the pillow he throws at me and begin pulling my boots on. "We should stop at Murphy's on our way out, see if he's heard from Daisy."

Tucking his gun in his waistband, Liam looks at the half chewed door and then back to me before responding, "Probably a good idea."

The front of Murphy's Deli is busy and noisy, as a small construction crew replaces the shot out windows. Liam and I enter the restaurant, sitting at the front counter while Murphy waits on a table. Looking down at my pants, I notice a strange, round object clinging to the fabric. "Huh." Reaching down, I tug the object off my pants and examine it. I show the small, pale pearl to Liam, commenting, "It was on my pants."

"When was the last time you changed those pants," Liam asks, "it might be fungus."

"Fuck you," I reply. "Oh! That's where the little mushroom was!" Admiring the pearl, I wrap it carefully in a napkin and dig in my back pack for a ziploc bag. 

Smirking, Liam turns to me. "So, I wasn't exactly wrong when I said it was fungus."

I scowl, kicking at Liam's stool as Murphy walks up to the counter to greet us. "You two aren't lookin' t'start yer shit in here, are yeh?" He gestures to the workers setting up the new glass. "I'd rather not have ta replace more than I already am."

"No," I reply, blocking Liam's foot as he tries to kick me back. I look up at Murphy, "Have you heard from Daisy? He hasn't been around since ah-" 

"The other night," Liam finishes.

Murphy glowers. "Aye. Daisy and that piece o' shite fetch of his have been workin' on somethin' for me."

Liam responds, "Good to know he's not dead."

"Do we know that?" I add, glancing at Murphy.

Murphy shoots me a look and I don't press the subject. "Did either of yeh want anythin' to eat?"

Rising from his stool, Liam slaps my shoulder and says, "We're on our way to meet Benedict for lunch, he wanted to talk to us about some Green Mountain stuff."

_oh god damn it liam._

His expression now positively stormy, Murphy replies, "Inn't that nice o' him."

As he lumbers away, I get up and turn to Liam. "Just had to push that button, didn't you?"

Liam, looking at me sternly, extends his index finger and pokes me on the tip of my nose. "Boop," he says, before walking from the restaurant. Making a face, I follow him out.

We arrive at the sushi restaurant after an hour of waiting for a cab. "This is getting fucking ridiculous," I comment as the hostess seats Liam and I at Benedict's table. 

"Maybe it's the baseball bat," Liam replies, looking down at the menu and grimacing.

"Maybe it's your abrasive disposition," offers Benedict, drinking from a small, ceramic cup.

Flapping my hand at Benedict, I scoot my chair in and reply, "You don't even know what we're talking about."

Benedict shrugs, "I drank half a bottle of sake while I was waiting for you two, and I'm sure I'm in the ballpark anyway."

Liam, laughing, says, "He hit the nail on the head, though."

"Fuck you both," I reply, looking down at my own menu and the bloated prices. "Uh," I look over to Liam. "You tryin' to split an egg roll or something?"

"I'll take care of the bill," Benedict says as he refills his cup. 

Uncomfortably, I set the menu on the table and look up at Liam and Benedict. "I don't actually know what most of this stuff is." 

As the waitress approaches, Liam takes my menu and replies in a reassuring voice, "I'll order something you'll like." Once the meals are ordered and the waitress walks away, Liam turns to Benedict. "So, what's the what here? You said there was some important shit going on."

"Must be important if you're involving us lowly court folks," I add, rolling my eyes.

Glancing around the restaurant, Benedict's ears twitch slightly as he stares across the table at Liam and I. "Someone in the city is trying to call the Wild Hunt," he says.

"You're looking at us like that should be a really, like, momentous statement, but uh," I look at Liam, who shrugs back at me, "we don't actually know what a Wild Hunt is."

"Right," Benedict replies. "Trog told me you all were fresh outta the thorns, forgot about that." He takes a drink of his sake. "The Wild Hunt can be called from the Hedge to hunt down escaped Lost, or to hunt a beast that's let loose explicitly for the Hunters."

I scowl. "Like trophy hunting for the fucking true fae?"

Benedict nods. "Or, for one of us, if we take the beast down ourselves."

"What do you mean, for ourselves?" Liam leans forward, his expression interested. "Is it possible for a changeling to like, win the Hunt?" Cocking my head to the side, I look to Benedict, just as curious for his answer.

"Yes-" he falls short as the waitress comes to the table with our food. Benedict is the only one who manages to retain a pleasant smile as the waitress sets the plates down. Liam seems deep in thought and I simply continue staring at Benedict, waiting for the human to walk away so he can continue speaking. 

Setting my food in front of me, the waitress bows before leaving us to the meal. Liam and Benedict begin eating and, frustrated, I ask, "So, why do you think someone is trying to call the Wild Hunt here? And who do you think is doing it?"

Liam, poking me with a chopstick, mumbles, "Eat your food," through a mouthful of rice. I distractedly grab a fork and stick in into a piece of raw fish. Shoving the chunk of fish into my mouth, I gesture at Benedict to reply. 

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Benedict finally says, "There's a beast already in the city," he takes a sip of water, "and I'd bet that your 'king' is behind it."

"Lord Tyler?" Liam replies, dipping his fish in some green sauce and nodding. "Yeah. That kind of makes sense." He looks over at me. "Fuck, I wonder if that thing we saw in the East River?"

"Fuck," I look back at Liam. "what if it was whatever snatched Wane?"

Benedict lowers the bite of food he was about to put in his mouth. "What are the both of you talking about?"

I gesture for Liam to keep eating as I explain, "We saw something weird in the East River when we were in Queens. Just like, a shadow of a really big animal, maybe."

"Skulk demon," Liam mumbles with a full mouth.

"Yeah," I agree. "But, also, something broke in our hotel room and possibly dragged our friend Wane out." 

Expression confused, Benedict asks, "Why would someone break into your hotel room just to abduct your friend?"

"Ah," I pause, before hesitantly explaining, "I was kind of temporarily holding him hostage so I could ask him questions about the whole Murphy/loyalist/shapeshifter thing."

Benedict blinks a few times, sedately focusing his attention on me. "What does your friend Wane know about the whole 'Murphy/loyalist/shapeshifter' thing?"

Frowning, I shove another piece of fish in my mouth and reply, "He can change his appearance and may have mentioned the Winter queen asking him to do something for her..." I trail off, swallowing my food with an audible gulp.

"And now you have no idea where your friend Wane is?" When I shake my head no, Benedict sighs. "You had the start of a good plan. First mistake was not letting me or the Boys in on it."

"I'm sure Wane would have been a lot more likely to stick around and chat after your Boys beat up on him a little," Liam retorts.

Benedict looks at Liam and replies, "That's fair." Contemplating for a moment, he says, "What about your Winter gal, either of you start looking into her?" Off our negative replies, he continues, "Alright, why don't I send Ethan with the two of you to check out her place. She runs a nightclub, right?"

I purposefully refrain from responding, glancing at Liam as he casually replies, "Oh, yeah we could do that."

"I'm talking about potential B & E here, in case that's not clear," Benedict states.

With a snort, I reply, "Breaking and entering is training wheels shit."

"Good to know." Benedict pulls out a cellular phone, flipping it open and pressing a few buttons. "I'll let Ethan know to meet you both there when we're done here." He types for a few minutes, then shuts the phone. 

The rest of the meal goes by quietly, and when the waitress lays the bill on the table, Benedict pulls out a handful of playing cards and tucks them into the leather folder. "What are you doing," asks Liam, curiously watching Benedict. 

Benedict places his hand over the cards and after a moment, they turn into crisp twenty dollar bills. He grins and gestures for us to follow him as he walks up to the cashier. Handing the leather folder to our waitress, he says, "No change," and we leave the restaurant. "It's only useful if you can get out of sight quickly. In another ten minutes," he jerks his head back towards the interior of the restaurant. "that's turning back into a bunch of playing cards."

Benedict drops us off a block away from Ill, and we spot Ethan's SUV parked in the lot adjacent to the club. Liam and I climb into the car. Soft music comes through the speakers, and Liam instinctively turns the radio off. "Sorry," he states, looking to Ethan. "we're weird about radios."

"Not a big deal," Ethan responds. Turning so he can see both Liam and I, he asks, "What's the plan, here?"

"Shit," Liam looks at me.

"Uhh," I stare out the window towards the club. "Break in, go through the queen's shit?"

Ethan presses his lips together, appearing harassed. "Ok, no. Yes, but no." Tapping his hand on his knee, he says, "What do we know about security? Is there security? Surveillance? Does the queen also have lodging at the club?"

"There's security guards at the club while it's open," I reply, unhelpfully.

"Yeah, we've got no idea," Liam admits.

Sighing, Ethan responds, "We need brief reconnaissance. Someone to scope out any exterior security measures, and if possible, get a look at what's going on on the inside. I can-"

"I can do it," Liam volunteers. He ignores my smirk as he says, "Maze is too fucking obvious and they might recognize you and get suspicious if Larry or Murphy have mentioned the Green Mountain Boys being around asking questions." 

"Alright," Ethan agrees. "Stay out of sight of the main road, and if anything pops off /don't/ engage, just get back here."

As Liam leaves the SUV and sneaks through the parking lot to the back of the club, I crawl into the vacant passenger seat. "You know he's more of a 'fight' than a 'flight', right?" 

Staring through the windshield, Ethan mutters, "Great."

About twenty minutes pass. I'm leaning on the dashboard, waiting to see any sign of Liam, when I hear Ethan exclaim a quiet, "shit!" When I turn to look, I see an unremarkable old BMW pulling into the spot next to the SUV. Ethan gives me a quick glance and states, "follow my lead," as an older gentleman with a potbelly and a bald spot on the crown of his head walks up to the driver's side door. My right hand is resting on the handle of my bat, and I try to restrain the warning growl that wants to slip from my lips as Ethan rolls the window down and greets the man. "Hi there, what can I do for you?"

The man bends down slightly so that he can see both Ethan and I. "Hi. I noticed the two of you parked over here, I ah," he nervously moistens his lips. "I thought maybe you were waiting for the club to open."

I have to repress a gag but Ethan doesn't miss a beat. He glances at me before turning back to the man with a devilish smile, "Oh, are we that obvious?"

Chuckling, the man leans his arms against the window. "It was me being hopeful, more than anything." He winks at me and I force a gritted teeth smile on my face.

"It's our first time here," Ethan replies, placing his hand on my thigh. "My wife is still a little nervous."

"Don't worry, ma'am," the man says, staring into the car. "We're as gentle as you want us to be."

Rubbing his palm up my leg, Ethan places his other hand on the man's arm. "You wouldn't want to help me warm her up, would you?" I stare at Ethan's hand on my leg, then his face, then the balding man's face.

_ethans hot but not that fucking hot. hed better have a plan going here._

"I'd love to," the man replies, now positively leering over at me.

"Is there somewhere more private we can go?" Ethan whispers. The man pulls a scrap of paper from his coat and jots down an address. Ethan takes the scrap, giving the man a sultry smile. "We'll meet you there." As the man excitedly climbs back into his car, Ethan turns to stare at me, his hand still resting on my inner thigh. His eyes tick up to the rear view mirror as he watches the BMW drive away. Exhaling explosively, he pulls his hand away from my thigh with a disgusted look.

My expression offended, I turn in my seat and glare at him. "Fucking really?"

"Sorry about that," He lets out another breath. "I had to run with it to get the guy to fuck off."

"Not that," I gesture in the direction that the BMW drove away. "the fucking-" I repeat his disgusted sound and look. Ethan simply stares at me, bewildered. Pointing to my thigh, I state, "This is a good thigh, they /both/ are."

Blinking, Ethan replies, "You're..." he pauses, "not my type." 

Narrowing my eyes at him, I ask, "Are you gay?"

"What?" He raises both hands, completely perplexed. "Is that relevant?"

"Yes!" I insist, "For two reasons, one of which is unrelated to this specific situation."

Ethan stares at me for a moment longer, before reaching for the door handle. "We need to get this done before that guy gets back."

I exit the car, quickly catching up with him as he crosses the parking lot. Quietly, I ask, "/Are/ you gay?"

"Is this just because I said you weren't my type?" He whispers back, hotly.

"I don't fucking care that I'm not your type, but there's nicer fucking ways you could have stated that," I whisper in response.

Muttering an expletive, Ethan snaps, "I'm sorry that your not my fucking type, is that better?"

"No," I hiss. The back of Ill comes into view as I again, I whisper, "Are you gay?"

"I'm not gay!" Ethan whispers, loudly enough to not actually be a whisper.

"Uh, what?" Liam asks. Ethan and I both jump, startled as he steps out from behind a dumpster.

Taking brief survey of Liam and seeing no injuries, I turn back to Ethan. "So, are you bisexual?" As he rubs at his face in frustration, I put my attention on Liam. "What's the what?"

His expression guilty, Liam replies, "I picked the lock and got in pretty easily, but ah, Tyrese was there."

I raise my eyebrow. "And?" Liam leads Ethan and I into the building. Just inside the door is a discarded propane tank and the crumpled body of Tyrese, the queen's ensourceled human doorman. I stare at his body for a moment, confused as I state, "I don't think his head is supposed to look like that."

"Whoops," Liam responds.

Shaking his head, Ethan looks up into the corners of the room. "What about cameras?"

We all set our eyes on the blinking red light of a small camera facing the door we're currently standing in front of. Again, Liam simply says, "Whoops." Swinging my back pack off one shoulder, I dig around for a moment and retrieve my slingshot. Another moment of digging and I find the container of ball bearings. Loading one into the cup, I pull back the rubber band and aim. I release the cup and ball, and am rewarded by the brief spark and tinkle of glass as I hit the camera directly in the middle of its lens. 

Liam high fives me, but Ethan still looks disgruntled. "We'll still have to find the computer the feed is linked to, and hope the footage is only being recorded and not being sent to an outside location." When Liam and I only give him blank looks, he begins walking towards the club's interior. "Maze, shoot out the rest of the cameras, Liam, keep an eye out for any hidden rooms."

The club is dimly lit, smelling overwhelmingly of bleach as I walk from corner to corner, firing away at the cameras. As Liam is investigating the back rooms, his voice comes clearly from across the dance floor, "Guys, I think I found the queen's private quarters."

The room is decorated in dark colors, much like the interior of the club. Unlike the club's cheap vinyl and fake fur, the Marquise's quarters are swathed in velvet and lace. Ethan immediately sits down at a desk in front of a security monitor. The monitor shows several black screens, and a few exterior cameras that I haven't shot out. I wander into the queen's bedroom, finding nothing unusual or suspicious outside of a handgun in a box under her bed. As I hear Ethan cursing from the security room, I remove the handgun from the box and tuck it into my backpack. Approaching the computer, I see two concerning images. Shown on the screen from the camera facing the front entrance, one of the Marquise's other employees is unlocking the door and entering the building. On one of the parking lot cameras, the old BMW is pulling into the lot. "Shit," Liam comments. "Now what?"

Ethan grabs a duffel bag and starts stacking dated VHS tapes inside. "If she's been recording everything in this club, there might be something on these tapes that can help us figure out what her or your other monarchs are up to." He looks at the TV screen again. "Shit, shit. I don't have time to trace the feed recording now."

Watching the balding man get out of the BMW, I look to Ethan. "I'll take care of the pervert, can you two finish up here?"

Liam glances at Ethan, me, then the security screen. "Yeah, definitely."

"Ok, good. Don't fucking burn anything down!" I stress, before quickly exiting the private room. As I'm crossing the dance floor, I can hear the footsteps above me as the other human walks around. Silently tiptoeing past Tyrese's corpse, I sneak out the back door, easing it closed behind me.

The balding man has his face pressed against the back window of Ethan's SUV, his hands cupped around his eyes as he tries to see in through the tinted glass.

_alright lets see how well i can fucking act._

I swallow down my disgust and approach the man. "You looking for me?"

He jumps, turning around with a startled look. "Oh! Well," he steps away from the car with a guilty expression. "yes, I was. I waited for you and your husband..."

Forcing a theatrical pout on my face, I reply, "We got into a fight after you left."

"Did you?" He steps closer to me, acting like he wants to place a comforting hand on my shoulder, but losing his nerve at the last minute. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Nodding, I attempt the doe eyed look that men always seem love. "He thought, when we were going to meet you, that you would just be watching us." With a herculean effort, I reach out and trail my fingers down the man's arm. "He got jealous when I said that I wanted to fuck you."

I can practically hear his accelerated heart rate, and the oily slosh of his blood rushing from his head to his groin. "I'm not so sorry to hear that," he breathes, his eyes bouncing from my face, to my tits, then back up to my face. 

"So, you'll take me to that place you mentioned?" I keep my voice low and even, despite my desire to claw this man's face open.

"Yes," he replies. As I turn to walk towards the BMW I feel his eyes crawling all over my body. Once we're in the car, he drives one handed, kneading my knee and thigh like a piece of dough, grunting small sounds of pleasure as he does so. The interior smells strangely of rust and salt. Part slaughterhouse and part sex club. Staring straight ahead, I fight down both my gorge and my fury as I'm taken to this mystery destination .

After a few blocks, he pulls the car into an alley between two abandoned buildings. The end of the alley is blocked by a tall fence and a large, overflowing dumpster. The buildings on either side stretch up high, their few windows blocked with plywood. 

_this is fucking shady even for the city._

The man clicks off the engine and turns to stare at me. I lift his hand from my leg and place it in his lap, repulsed by the tented front of his pants. "Do you like toys," he asks. "I have toys we can use." 

He reaches for me again and I grab his wrist in midair. "No," I state, trying to keep my tone sultry. "I want you to get out of the car." The man looks confused and mildly suspicious, so I flick on the headlights and explain, "I want you to get out of the car and take all of your clothes off." Mentally steeling myself, I lean forward and press my lips against the man's. His tongue immediately invades my mouth, prodding against my lips and teeth and polluting my air with the stink of his breath. I bite his bottom lip as I pull back, possibly too hard, but he doesn't seem to mind. Refusing to swallow the spit pooling in my mouth, I finish with, "then I want you to bend over the hood for me."

Breathing heavily, the man enthusiastically agrees. The moment he steps from the car, I spit onto the center console, wiping my tongue on my hand in attempt to rid myself of the feeling of his mouth. I watch as he strips down, exposing his sagging, dirt-tanned flesh. My lip lifts from my teeth in a snarl as he steps in front of the car, squinting in the glare of the headlights. Placing both his palms on the hood, he beds forward as I requested. I stare at him for a moment, the air hissing between my clenched teeth and I contemplate what to do.

I open the door and step out. Walking slowly to the front of the car, I see the goosebumps raising on the man's skin as I come up behind him. Glaring at the bald spot on the back of his head, I unsnap my bat from its loop. He hears the sound, and is turning around with a curious and excited expression when I bring the bat down onto his face. The man's blood splashes across the windshield. I bring it down again, and blood begins to pour from his cracked skull, leaking into one of the vents and sizzling as it hits the hot engine under the hood. As the man convulses, in the throes of dying, my stomach growls. Despite his revolting, repugnant form, he is fresh meat on the bone and my mouth is watering.

_theres no one around to see._

My claws dig into his shoulders as I bite deeply into the man's flabby bicep. The soft flesh tears away easily under my sharp teeth, and I eat down to the bone. The meat is sweet, and satisfying, and

_what have i done._

The man's body lay sprawled over the hood, his skull crushed into an unrecognizable shape, his right arm almost gnawed off of his body. I stare at it, licking my lips, tasting the blood and bits of sinew still clinging to them. 

_what is wrong with me._

With shaking hands, I lift the body from the hood and heft it over my shoulder. It's still warm, leaking blood and other fluid onto my clothing as I carry it down the alley to the dumpster. As I flip the top of the dumpster open, the heavy smell of rot wafts out. Holding the body with one hand, I kick a milk carton over and stand on it, looking down into the heaps of trash. A single, brown mottled human hand reaches up through the detritus like a drowning victim. Its nails are painted black, and there's a leather bracelet buckled around the wrist. My eyes scan over the rest of the dumpster, seeing nothing but normal, if not purposefully mundane trash. I tip the body into the pile and slam the lid shut again.

Walking back to the car, I search through the front and back seats, finding no identifying information in the cast off clothing or glove compartment. Removing the keys from the engine, I open up the trunk, finding a case of water and a zip up leather bag. I use a bottle of water to clean off my face and hands. Inside the leather bag is two rolls of duct tape, a coil of nylon rope, saran wrap, a taser, bolt cutters, fishing hooks, a rubber mallet, several knives of different lengths... 

I take the duct tape and rope, transferring it to my own back pack before shutting the trunk. I change my shirt, tossing the bloody one onto the ground with the man's discarded clothing. Leaving the keys dangling from the trunk and the doors hanging open, I leave the alley and walk down the block, looking for civility and a pay phone.

When Ethan and Liam come to pick me up a half hour later, they both reek of smoke. Liam looks guiltily satisfied and Ethan, as been the theme, looks exasperated. "What did you do?" I ask, accusingly. 

"Well, the guy who was coming in the front? That was Chester, the dickface that gave us a hard time when we were at the club that first night," Liam explains.

"Was?" I ask.

Ethan, pinching the bridge of his nose, replies, "Liam shot him."

"He had a gun," Liam shrugs. "he would have shot us." I lean forward, in between the front seats, and wipe a spot of soot from Liam's forehead. I turn my thumb towards him and show him the damning evidence. "We may have had to burn the club down."

I flop back against the back seat. "Didn't I specifically say /not/ to burn anything down? It's weird that I specifically mention to not do one thing, and you do that one specific thing."

Throwing his hands in the air, Liam responds, "We didn't have a choice! We had no way to get rid of the surveillance shit, and there were already two dead bodies, and it's not like any of us wore gloves, or any of that crime scene shit."

"Liam," Ethan pauses, "does kind of have a point."

"A point is great," I cross my arms, staring at Ethan in the rearview mirror. "What happens when someone finds out we burned the Winter queen's shit down and killed her people?" 

"Are either of you going to tell anyone?" Ethan replies.

Liam scoffs. "Fuck no."

I reply, "No, but-" 

Ethan cuts me off, "Do you think I'm going to? Or that Benedict or Trog will?" 

"Trog won't," I respond without hesitation. "I don't know about you or Father Fuck Em to Death."

"We won't," Ethan states, with a sort of finality. 

I open my mouth, then close it again. "Alright," states Liam.

"Alright," I echo, after a moment.

The drive is silent for another few blocks, then Liam asks, "So, what did you end up doing with the creepy dude?"

Picking a spot of dried blood from the seam of my pants, I stare out the side window and reply, "Nothing. He took me to this alley and then I just booked it."

Ethan lugs the duffel bag up to the hotel room as Liam and I lead the way. Unlocking the door, I comment, "Don't mind the half chewed door or clawed up carpet." Shrugging my backpack off, I plop onto the couch. Staring, discouraged, at the pile of VHS tapes on the table, I remark, "There's a fuck ton of tapes here, how far back should we watch?"

Ethan moves a few tapes around, switching them from one place to another. "I've got them in order, I think." He picks up one with yesterday's date. "Start from last night and work from there." Flicking the tv on, he pushes the first tape into the VCR. 

As the security footage begins to play, Liam grimaces. "Christ, we're essentially going to be watching eight straight hours of porn." He sits on the opposite side of the couch, disappointment crossing his features as Ethan takes a seat on the floor in front of the couch.

"I can play it at double speed until we see something we need to check out," Ethan comments, hitting a button on the remote.

We watch hours worth of mostly mundane footage. As we get past the first tape, we begin occasionally seeing Daisy or Woody on the screen, imbibing in any vice the club has to offer. Ethan and Liam pointedly stare at another part of the screen when Tanya, Chad and I appear on one section of tape. Wane shows up at one point, his lack of additional visits afterwards making me want to find him and question him even more. The Marquise leaves for several long periods of time, and it's one of those times that I call out, "Wait! Stop, or uh, rewind it." Ethan rewinds the tape back and I point out the square showing the footage from the queen's personal quarters. "Watch in there," I state. 

When Ethan starts the video again, all three of us see the strange, shadowy figure moving around in the room. "What the fuck?" Liam says. He leans forward, staring at the tv screen. "Can you rewind it again?" Ethan does so and Liam curses under his breath.

"What do you think it is?" I ask, looking over to Liam.

"It looks like the shit that fucking Lord Tyler did, when we saw him at the prison our first day here? Remember? He scared the shit out of you," Liam responds.

"He startled me," I state in correction. "but whatever."

Ethan turns back to look at Liam. "Tyler is the Autumn king?" When Liam nods, Ethan's expression sours. "Benedict wasn't wrong about you guys and your fucking courts." He shakes his head. "He'll definitely want to know about this before the meeting."

"Let's watch some more, see if he shows up in any of the other tapes," Liam says, sitting back against the pillows.

The tapes begin to play our first night in New York, and Ethan silently watches the quadrant of footage where we discover Elekite out on the club floor. As the Marquise starts to lead the five of us to the back, my eyes widen slightly.

_oh shit. i need to fast forward the tape or stop it or something. i need to make them look away._

Before I know it, Daisy, Liam and Woody are leaving the room, and I'm alone with Elekite. I turn my eyes to the other areas of the club, the other cameras showing people drinking, dancing... I look anywhere but at the recorded proof of my lapse in judgement. 

On the floor, Ethan is trying and failing to keep a neutral expression of his face. I sigh and turn to Liam, already feeling the almost palpable heat from the daggers he's staring at me. I raise my hand and let it drop in a 'go ahead' gesture.

"What the FUCK is wrong with you?" Liam spits out, pointing angrily at the screen. "Like, what the fuck is wrong with your head?"

"Probably a lot," I respond. "If I thought you'd understand, I would have already fucking told you about it." Ethan continues to watch the tapes, awkwardly attempting to ignore the two beasts arguing behind him.

Scoffing, Liam says, "What's there to understand about you fucking the guy who's been trying to kill us?"

"Shit isn't that fucking simple," I retort. "Not everybody's durance ends when they leave Arcadia."

Looking confused, Liam asks, "What the fuck does that mean?"

Clenching my jaw, I reply, "It doesn't fucking mat-"

"Hey uh," Ethan stands, clicking off the VCR. "I'm going to go ahead and report back to Benedict with what we saw on the tapes." Grimacing slightly, he amends himself. "What we saw regarding the Autumn king. You guys have his number if you hear anything else, right?" He starts moving towards the door.

"Yeah, we've got it," I mutter.

Liam also stands, his expression mildly flustered. "Hey, um." He takes a couple of steps towards Ethan. "I wondered if maybe you wanted to grab coffee, or something?"

I glance up, trying to unobtrusively watch the pair, even as I scowl to myself. Ethan looks at the clock over Liam's shoulder, before looking back at Liam. "That sounds cool, but I really have to get this intel to Benedict." He gives Liam a disappointed smile. "Raincheck though, if this meeting doesn't get too crazy." 

"Yeah," Liam responds, watching sadly as Ethan leaves the hotel room. 

My scowl softens slightly as I stare over at Liam. "He did sound legitimately disappointed, you know," I state in what I hope is a reassuring tone.

Liam glares at me. "This is probably your fault," he snaps, "you freaked him out with your freaky..." he gestures to the blank tv screen. "lizard fucking!" With that statement, he stomps into the bedroom and slams the door.


	21. Chapter 21

New York City. Sept of 2000.

Liam still seems pissed off at me the next morning, so the trip to Upper Manhattan is awkward and quiet. His mood doesn't improve when I can't remember exactly where the entrance Stu's Stew is. "Are you sure you didn't just imagine it after you got high and fucked Wane?" Liam gripes.

"I didn't get high," I retort. "I was hot boxed, or something. Also, fuck off." I spot a familiar, boarded up storefront and state, "Pretty sure that's it up there." I ignore Liam's grumbling and approach the building. The door is covered in plywood, but nonetheless opens when I pull the handle. Once more, I step into the colorful and chaotic interior of Stu's Stew. 

Trailing in behind me, Liam stares around the restaurant, watching the bowls as they fly along the tracks on the counters and ceiling. "This is some Willy Wonka shit," he comments.

"Yeah, only with soup." Looking around, I'm immediately discouraged to not see Wane among the customers scattered around the room. I wrinkle my nose, noticing the rodeo clown slave auctioneer from the goblin market seated at one of the tables with a horse headed gentleman. Spotting Chad sitting at the front counter, I walk over and take a seat at the stool next to him. Liam sits on my other side, staring down the row at Bark as the tree-shaped goblin clears away another tables bowls. "Hey Chad," I say in greeting.

Turning his obnoxiously bright grin in my direction, Chad replies, "Hi there, Maze!" He leans back a little, nodding at Liam. "Hi there, Liam!" Liam simply gives Chad a forced smile before turning his attention to the decor. "Isn't this a great place for brunch?" Chad asks.

"Sure," I respond, looking down at Bark as he approaches our table and sets two bowls of broth in front of Liam and I. "Hey, Bark," I say, elbowing Liam as he stares at his bowl with a barely repressed distrust. As if to prove a point, I take a large and hearty gulp of my broth before placing it back down and looking back to Bark. "Have you seen Wane around lately?"

Bark replies, "I speak the truth when I regretfully say, I haven't seen our friend Wane today." 

"Shit," I respond after taking another gulp of broth. "Have you seen him since he was here with me the other night?" Bark shakes his body vigorously, and I thank him before turning back to Liam. "There goes that fucking idea."

Liam watches Bark waddle away, commenting, "Is that a sentient fucking tree stump?"

Chad leans forward, smiling. "No, Liam. Bark is a goblin, and an excellent cook." He gestures to Liam's untouched bowl and says, "He's serving chicken and barley today, and I'd definitely recommend giving it a try."

I watch as Liam looks from Chad to his bowl of broth, expression dubious. He's picking the bowl up for a taste when I notice the horse headed man leaving the clown's table, looking disgruntled. Liam's expression goes from dubious to pleased as he tastes the broth, then back to unpleasant as he notices the approaching horse headed man. Surprisingly, Chad's smile looks somewhat brittle as the horse headed man says, "Hello friends, I don't think I've met you before. I'm Harold. I see you know Chad, he's such a swell guy. I love coming here, there's always something delicious on the menu and always someone interesting to talk to. Sometimes it's nice to just sit and enjoy the atmosphere and relax, just enjoy sitting in a nice place with nice people. Say, you guys didn't mention your names. What are your names?"

His words come out in such a monotone rush that I can only stare, blinking and slightly open mouthed until the man, Harold, is finished speaking. "Uh. Fuck. I'm Maze." I point next to me. "That's Liam."

"Maze and Liam? Wow, that's great. It's great to meet you. I love meeting new people, and there's never a shortage of new people to meet here at Stu's. Ha ha, but I've yet to meet Stu! I guess he likes to stay behind the scenes," he winks one, large, black eye. "Personally, I think Stu is just Bark's, what do you call it, pseudonym. Why he thinks he would need one is beyond me, you can be a cook and a businessman and a goblin, no need to hide-"

"Harold," Chad interrupts, his voice is cold enough to make me turn around and stare at him. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Maybe you could go ahead and run your mouth somewhere else? I think Maze and Liam needed to discuss some private business." 

_mmm ok. theres that summer temper. i was wondering where he was hiding it._

The horse headed man seems oblivious to Chad's words as he starts, "Private business? Oh well, I know all about private business. Just the other day I was talking to a couple sprites that had come in here and they were telling me about this-" Harold's words are cut off as Chad rises from his stool and grabs him by the lapels of his shirt, lifting him off of his feet.

From the back of the restaurant, Bark pipes up, "You'd better take that outside, if your intention is to fight. There's no violence allowed in here, and I'll enforce that rule with might."

Liam and I exchange an impressed glance as Chad drags the horse headed Harold out a side door. "Damn," Liam comments. "Didn't think he had it in em."

"Right?" I reply. 

"You'll have to thank your friend for me," says a voice behind my shoulder. I turn around and it's the clown from the goblin market, Gandlo. "I don't get a lot of time out of the market, and that guy almost makes it not worth coming here."

Narrowing my eyes at Gandlo, I respond, "What do you mean you don't get a lot of time out of the market?"

"You know how things work over there, right?" He gives me a confused look before turning his attention to Liam. "How's Pompy?" I zone out as they talk, staring at Gandlo.

_is he not working at the market by choice? does he HAVE to stay there and do what hes doing?_

"Maze!" Liam snaps his fingers in front of my face. "You're doing that thing again."

"What?" I blink and look at Liam and Gandlo. "Oh. Right, sorry."

Gandlo shakes his head. "Anyway, come see me. It gets fucking monotonous sometimes. I can give you guys a tour of the market, show you who'll try to rip you off and who won't." He looks at Liam, then at me.

Liam shrugs and I reply, "Yeah, maybe I will."

"Cool," Gandlo makes a gun with his fingers and points it as us before walking away. 

There's the sound of a door opening and Chad comes back in. He's still smiling, but blood is lightly speckled across his face and hair and smeared onto his knuckles. I'm immediately sidetracked.

_yum. why the fuck couldnt chad have done something like this BEFORE i hooked up with him?_

Leaning forward, I pick a chunk of bloody tooth from the waves of his hair. "Ok, so you're a lot more interesting when you're not doing the game show host act."

Chad turns to me with a wide grin and responds, "It's a pretty hard act to shake off when it was battered into me for years to be like this." 

I drop my hand back down to my lap, feeling mildly horrified. "Well, fuck. I'm ah-"

Liam stands up grabbing my arm and pulling me from my stool. "C'mon, we have to fucking find Wane."

"I'm sorry!" I awkwardly half shout to Chad as Liam yanks me out of the restaurant.

"What I really want to know," Liam starts. "is how you're getting all these people to sleep with you in the first place." He hails a cab relatively quickly, giving the driver the address for the cigar shop.

As usual, the club under the shop is dark, crowded, and practically unbearable. The stage is empty, and some sort of screaming that passes for music is being pumped through the speakers. Liam and I make our way to the bar, where Charon is pouring a line of shots for a group of bikers. "Hey," he calls over to us. "I'm surprised to see you guys here."

"It's never by choice," Liam shouts back.

Giving up on trying to spot Wane in the constantly undulating crowd, I turn to Charon. "Is Wane here?"

"Of course," Charon replies, offering Liam and I a shot before replacing the bottle. "He's got a show tonight, why wouldn't he be here?"

I flop my arms in frustration. "He fucking disappeared from the hotel room. Where the fuck is he?"

Charon grabs a small case next to the cash register and slips on a pair of glasses. Glancing around the room, he points towards a spot near one of the speakers. "Over there with Caridad, green haired chick with the jean jacket." 

I follow Charon's direction and see Wane's skinny body wrapped around the woman described. "Fucking hell," I mumble as I stalk over to the pair. Grabbing Wane's arm, I pull him away from the woman, Caridad. "Wane, you asshole! Where the fuck have you been?"

Wane smiles, his pupils dilated to the size of coins. "Maze! Hey, man!" He hugs me, with the human woman glaring over his shoulder.

"I need to talk to you," I state, glaring back at the human. "in private." 

I start to pull him towards the bar when I feel him yanked lightly in the other direction. "Bitch, I'm pretty sure he was hanging out with me."

_did she just call me a bitch?_

Running my tongue over my lips, I turn back to the human woman. "I'm pretty sure you don't want to bark up this tree," I pause, baring my teeth in a smile before I add, "/bitch/."

"I'll kick the shit out of you, you fucking slut," she shouts, thrusting her hand forward in an attempt at a punch. 

I catch her wrist and squeeze, letting out a pleased growl when she yelps in pain. I feel her bones start to grind together in my grasp when Wane turns to face me. He pats at my chest, giving me the puppy dog eyes as he says, "Aw, don't kill Caridad, I liiike her." 

Sighing, I look over his head at the human woman. "Go and fuck off somewhere," I instruct as I release her wrist. Returning my attention to Wane, I start leading him back to the bar. "We need to go back to the hotel, this is really fucking important."

"Can't," Wane replies, gesturing broadly towards the stage. "I've got a show."

"Fuck your show, Wane. This could be your ass on the fucking line. This could be other people's asses on the fucking line." We're almost at the bar when I feel the resistance of his presence suddenly seem to dissolve. "What the FUCK?" I yell.

"The fuck?" Liam echoes from his spot at the bar.

Charon just shakes his head apologetically and points to the stage. From the shadows behind the massive speakers, Wane emerges, mic in hand. As he starts screaming to the crowd, I plop down onto one of the stools and sigh. "Why does he have to be such a sneaky little shit?" Rubbing my face, I try to figure out what to do next.

"I could get him to your hotel after the show, if that's any help," Charon offers.

Liam raises an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "How are you going to convince him to leave his groupies?"

"I've got my ways," Charon replies, watching Wane stagger around the stage.

On our way back to the hotel, Liam and I stop into Murphy's Deli. There's a vaguely familiar human with a red moustache and a toothpick tucked in the corner of his mouth behind the counter who informs us that Murphy is out for the next day or two. When I ask where he went, the human gives me the reply, "If he'd wanted yeh t'know, he woulda told'jer."

"Shit," I spit out as we're leaving, "he must already be at the monarch meeting." 

_if were too late. if im too late to clear murphy ill never fucking forgive myself._

We head up to the hotel room in silence. Daisy and Woody still aren't back, so Liam and I sit at the single table and stare blankly around the room. "How are we even going to get the proof to the monarchs once we get it?" I ask, anxiously running my hands through my dreads. "We don't even know where the fuck they are. They could be in the fucking Hedge, they could be anywhere-"

"They're going to be at Central Park, right by that tree that's the entrance to the Hedge." When I look at Liam, slightly puzzled, he continues, "Ethan mentioned it. Him and Trog are supposed to be there with Benedict."

I frown. "I didn't know Trog was going to be there." My anxiety increases tenfold. "Fuck. We should be there, too. For Murphy," I add.

"Not much we can do by showing up now," Liam replies, "just have to wait for Charon and Wane."

"Yeah," I answer back, unhappily.

Hours later, there's barely a whole knock at the door before I fling it open to the startled face of Charon. "Sorry, I was pacing." 

I'm about to ask where Wane is, when the scrawny changeling pokes his head from around the doorframe. "Man, somebody fucked UP your hotel room," he comments, stumbling into the living area. "Do you guys think you're The Who or something?"

"Who?" Liam replies, standing up and catching Wane before he trips over the torn carpet.

I gesture for Charon to enter the room. "Thanks for keeping your word," I say, uncomfortably.

"No problem," replies Charon. "He's a little drunk, but should be pretty reasonable." He takes a seat on the couch.

Liam sets Wane in his own recently vacated chair, placing his hands on the other man's shoulders. "Maze is gonna ask you some stuff, alright buddy?"

I roll my eyes at Liam and sit down across from Wane. "You don't have to talk to him like he's stupid." Taking a deep breath, I concentrate on activating the connection that still exists between myself and Arcadia. The Wyrd awakens ands offers me its power, and my nose fills with the sharp, green scent of the thorns. Rubbing my hand over my mouth, I look over to Wane. "Alright. Ok. Wane? You with me?"

Wane lifts his head, looking tired, mildly worried, but otherwise alert. "Yeah, Maze. What's going on?"

I give him a small half smile before saying, "I need you to let me know what monarch asked you to do something for them."

"I told you, it's nothing-" he starts. There's a bitter taste in my mouth that tells me without words that he's lying.

"Wane, this is really fucking important. I need you to be honest with me."

He stares silently back at me, thin lips pressed together. Liam stands behind Wane, staring at me from over his head.

I reach across the table and take one of Wane's hands. "You can tell me the fucking truth and I'll do my god damndest to make sure nobody fucking hurts you. No matter what you've done." After a moment, I ask, "Did the Winter queen ask you to do something for her?"

"Yeah," he replies, and my mouth is filled with a cool, clear taste. 

"Did it have to do with Mr. Murphy?" I ask.

"It did," he replies, and again, his words register as the truth. Shame crosses Wane's features as he explains, "The Queen asked me to make myself look like the big Irish guy, Mr Murphy. She told me to do that, and then go talk to this chick out in Lower Manhattan. That was all I did."

Liam looks at me, his expression silently inquiring, and I nod to indicate that Wane is telling the truth. I squeeze Wane's hand reassuringly as I say to Liam, "Can he hide out in the Hollow until we get this shit straightened out?"

"Yeah," Liam responds. "I'll make sure to tell Pompy not to eat him." Liam pats Wane's shoulder. "C'mon man, you'll be safe in here." He takes a stick of chalk out of his pocket and draws a door on the wall.

As Liam opens the chalk drawn door to reveal the inside of the small cottage in the hedge, I turn to Charon. "Are you going to be safe?"

Charon nods. "Yeah, I can lay low for a few days. There's a girl I date sometimes who'll probably let me crash at her place." He rises from the couch and looks up at me. "You weren't bullshitting him, right? You'll watch his ass if someone comes after him?"

"Absolutely," I reply. 

Pulling his keys from his pocket, Charon turns and says, "Good fucking luck," before leaving the hotel room.

After a few minutes, Liam steps back out of the Hollow, and the chalk drawn door becomes just that again. He hastily erases the marks from the wall and turns to me. "He's freaked out, but I think he'll just end up sleeping the whole time."

"Good," I respond. "Lets get to that fucking meeting."

It's when the taxi drops us off on East Drive and we start up the dark trail to Central Park that I begin feeling overwhelmingly uneasy. Liam must be having a similar reaction because he rests his hand on the butt of his gun as we climb up the hill towards the softball fields. I sniff at the air as we speed walk, quickly catching the familiar scents of our fellow Lost, and the acrid tang that comes from the Hedge door. Seven figures come into view. Lord Tyler stands with his back to the tree, facing the other monarchs. Offset from the four monarchs are Benedict, Trog and Ethan. Benedict seems to notice us before anyone else, and grins as we approach. On a whim, I reach out to the Wyrd once more, calling up my ability to tell truth from lies. 

One by one, heads turn to acknowledge our arrival. Murphy, grimacing, says, "Ah jaysus, what are you two doin' here?"

Lord Tyler is the last to turn to face us. "I'm curious to find that out, as well." His expression is unreadable as he adds, "Unless you both were recently crowned monarchs and I wasn't made aware."

"Benedict and the Boys aren't monarchs, either." Liam responds.

"No," Lord Tyler states. "they are not. The Green Mountain Boys have, at least, stated their reasoning for interfering. I'm still waiting for yours."

Liam falls silent, looking to me. 

_great. thanks for passing the buck fuckface._

Scowling, I state, "We're here for Mr. Murphy." When Lord Tyler raises his eyebrow, I correct my statement. "Not that he asked us to come. He didn't. We're here to clear his name."

"Please. Elaborate." Lord Tyler requests.

"Fuck, ok." I briefly glance at Larry, who simply looks bored, and to the Winter queen who has a vaguely interested expression. "Well, we uh, received some intel that Mr. Murphy was uh, consorting with the true fae." Pointedly ignoring Benedict as he whispers to Trog and Ethan, I continue, "We knew that was bullshit, because it's obviously bullshit."

Lord Tyler stares at me, impassively. "What a persuasive argument." 

"I'm fucking getting there," I snap, earning sharp looks from the other monarchs. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm not a great ah, public speaker." Rubbing my face, I take a deep breath and start again. "Not only can we uh, attest to the fact that Mr. Murphy was at his deli when the supposed 'consorting' happened, but we also found out who posed as Mr. Murphy to frame him."

Everyone is silent, still, and staring at me at I pause. On Lord Tyler's other side, Benedict covers his mouth and says in a high falsetto, "Who was it, Maze?" Trog and Ethan stifle laughter and I hear Liam doing the same behind my back.

Running my hand through my dreads, I state, "Wane shapeshifted himself to look like Mr. Murphy-"

"The boy that only reluctantly joined a court once he was forced to?" Lord Tyler interrupts.

"Once you sent your guys to kill him, yeah." I reply, angrily.

Lord Tyler turns to the Winter queen. "This boy is in your court, Madam Marquise."

"Yes," the queen confirms.

"Uh," I step forward. "That's where it gets kind of messy. I questioned Wane before Liam and I came here, and he said he was ordered to pose as Mr. Murphy. He said he was ordered by the Winter queen."

The Marquise turns to me, her eyebrows raised. Her expression and tone are composed as she asks, "You took his word without question?"

"I have a thing," I pause. "I can do a thing where I can tell when someone is lying."

"Then why wouldn't you bring the boy along for your heroic disruption?" Lord Tyler asks.

I turn my attention back to him. "Because I couldn't guarantee his safety here."

Lord Tyler smiles, replying, "No harm would come to Wane in my presence."

My mouth fills with a bitter taste, and I retort, "Well, that's a fucking lie." 

"I have the same ability that Maze speaks of," the Winter queen says, meeting my eyes. "I did not have Wane attempt to frame Mr. Murphy as a loyalist."

The bitter taste clears from my tongue.

_what? shit. now what?_

"That's good t'hear, but I'd still like t'know who did," Murphy states. "Especially since I'm not a fuckin' loyalist." I'm relieved when his statement rings true.

"Of course, Mr. Murphy," Lord Tyler replies. "Figuring out who is trying to tarnish your good name is one of my top priorities." 

Again, my mouth tastes bitter, and looking to Lord Tyler, I reflexively blurt out, "You're such a fucking dick."

Benedict and the Boys burst into laughter, and I feel Liam step up at my side as Lord Tyler turns his silently threatening gaze to me. "Maze," his voice carries a near tangible chill. "you can leave now."

I stand my ground, as Benedict, laughter still in his tone, says, "Maze and Liam have a right to be here, since they'll be hunting the beast along with the rest of us."

"You've yet to provide proof that a beast has been loosed in my city, Benedict." Lord Tyler replies. "Your preoccupation with the Wild Hunt makes me wonder if you're not the one who intends on summoning it."

"Considering your court monarchs are too busy trying to frame each other as loyalists, I can see why you would think that," Benedict retorts.

I loudly clear my throat, bringing several sets of eyes on me as I say, "Uh, Liam and I saw something that may have been... beast-y."

Finally, Liam speaks up. "There was something in the East River. Something huge. We only saw its silhouette, but it was a lot bigger than any normal animal."

"We plan on looking into the area as soon as possible," Benedict replies. He turns to Liam and I. "You two are welcome to come with us," he adds.

"Are you trying to poach new Margraves from my court now?" Lord Tyler asks.

Benedict makes a face, "Oof, you two are directly under him?" He points to Lord Tyler. "Sucks."

Despite the obvious tension, I'm fighting a smile as I shake my head no. Lord Tyler simply stares at Benedict, expressionless. "I think, unless any of my fellow monarchs have anything to add, this meeting can be adjourned." Murphy, Larry and the Marquise remain quiet, and Lord Tyler says, "Fantastic."

As Liam and I stand awkwardly, unsure what to do, Lord Tyler calls Liam's name from his spot by the large tree. Liam shoots me a look before approaching the king. I follow close behind him, figuring that if I haven't pissed Lord Tyler off enough to do anything about it by now, I should be safe to eavesdrop. "You've done an exceptional service for all of our courts tonight," the king states, taking Liam's hand in his own. "As your monarch, I would show my appreciation with a gift." He holds his free hand over Liam's head, and a bright, golden leaf materializes above him. It seems to swirl lightly in the cool breeze that serves as Liam's Autumn mantle. 

Attempting to catch sight of the ethereal leaf, Liam casually removes his hand from Lord Tyler's grasp. "Ah, thanks."

Looking over to me, Lord Tyler states, "I'm sure Larry will provide you with a similar endowment, for your devotion to clearing his fellow monarch's name."

I give a noncommittal reply, as Larry comments, "Of... course." He says his goodbyes to the other monarchs before turning to me and adding, "I'll go... start... on your gift... now." He lumbers away to his car. Seeming satisfied, Lord Tyler walks away from the group, his form quickly melting into the shadows. Murphy also leaves quickly after, moving faster than seems possible for his large frame. 

Before the Winter queen can leave, I approach her. "Um, Madame Marquise?"

She turns her attention towards me, her pale eyes unblinking, "Yes, Maze?"

"Wane, your new court member, he wasn't trying to dirty your name, or whatever." I pause. "There's no reason to kick his ass, or punish him." 

The Marquise stares up at me for a silent moment, before responding, "I don't have any intention to act against Wane, he's done nothing to warrant punishment."

_fuck i hope she doesnt blame him for the club shit._

"Ok, good," I reply. Sensing the conversation is over, the Marquise turns and walks away, leaving the park. 

I let out a breath, feeling mentally exhausted. Turning to Liam, I say, "How the fuck did we just get away with all that?"

"What, you mean how did we get away with crashing a monarch meeting, accusing the Winter queen of being a loyalist and calling the Autumn king a dick?" Liam shrugs and begins walking towards Benedict, Ethan and Trog. "No fucking idea, really."

Benedict, in good spirits, throws his arm around Liam's shoulders as we approach. I jerk my thumb towards him and comment, "The real question is how Father Fuck Em to Death over here didn't get like, smited or something."

"Tyler knows he doesn't hold any authority over the Margraves," Benedict replies, laughing.

"He kind of seems like a little bitch," adds Trog.

Liam stares out over the expansive park. "Would be nice to know who's trying to bring the Hunt here, and what the beast they're hunting is."

Narrowing my eyes at Benedict, I reply, "Yeah, that would be good to know."

"I doubt the beast is going to remain hidden for much longer," Ethan comments. "We start looking for it now and we'll have a head start if the Hunt is called."

"What if we kill it before the Hunt?" I ask, gaining Liam's attention. "Would that mean we, uh, win?"

Liam looks over to Benedict, "Fuck, yeah, can we start hunting now?"

"I think you guys can take a break, at least for the rest of the night," Benedict responds. He takes his arm from Liam's shoulder and pulls out his phone. "There's a few more things I need to look into, and I might need to take a trip back up to Vermont."

It's quiet for a few moments, until Liam nonchalantly asks, "So, Ethan. Do you want to grab that coffee?"

Holding my breath, I covertly turn my head to watch Ethan's reaction. He smiles at Liam, replying, "Sure." Looking to Benedict, he states, "Cell phone is on, if you need me."

Benedict rolls his eyes and makes a shooing gesture with his hand. "I won't."

Smiling slightly as Ethan and Liam wander away together, I look up at Trog. "You wanna do something?"

"Ok," Trog responds. "Like what?"

I look around at the bare grouping of trees that passes for woods in this park. "I'd like to run, maybe hunt some deer or something." Turning my attention back to Trog, I ask, "Are there any like, real forests around here?"

Trog grins. "Yeah, I know of a place we can go. You alright with me crashing at the hotel tonight?"

"'Course," I reply.

"I'll check in tomorrow morning," Trog states to Benedict as we make our way out of Central Park, and back into the city.


End file.
